ltd 


m 


TALES 


OF  THE 


GARDEN  OF  KOSCIUSZKO 


BY 

SAMUEL   L.   KNAPP 


'  Her  secret  stores  let  Mem'ry  tell  ; 
.Bid  Fancy  qnit  her  airy  cell, 
In  all  her  colors  dreat, 
M'hile,  prompt  her  sallies  to  control, 
Reason,  the  judge,  recalls  the  soul 
To  Truth's  severest  test." 

'  Then  onward  lake  thy  flight  again, 
Mix  with  the  policies  of  men, 
And  social  Nature's  ties; 
The  plan,  the  genius  of  each  state, 
I:*  iiu'rest  and  its  pow'rs  relate, 
Its  fortunes,  and  its  rise." 


NEW-YORK: 
PRINTED    BY   WEST    &   TROW. 

SOLD     BV    THE     PRINCIPAL     BOOKSELLERS     THROUGHOUT     THE 
UNITED    STATES. 

1834. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1834,  by 
SAMUEL  L.  KNAPP,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the 
Southern  District  of  New- York. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PROVOST  PRISON 9 

THE  MAJUAC 23 

THE  BLACKSMITH,  OR  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  LETTERS  UPON  MORALS...     35 

ACLLAHUA 51 

THE  TROGLODYTES S5 

THE  TENSONS 99 

THE  LOOT  CHILD 105 

MY  Doc 175 

THE  EXILE...  ..189 


3113 


PREFACE. 


A  FEW  months  since,  when  exhausted  by  hard 
labor,  I  visited  West  Point  to  breathe  a  little  fresh 
air  among  the  hospitable  inhabitants  of  that  delight 
ful  spot.  After  a  fatiguing  walk  to  Fort  Putnam,  a 
ruin  examined  by  every  visitor  at  the  Point,  I  sought 
the  retreat  called  KOSCIUSZKO'S  GARDEN.  I  had 
seen  it  in  former  years,  when  it  was  nearly  inaccessi 
ble  to  all  but  clambering  youths.  It  was  now  a 
different  sort  of  place.  It  had  been  touched  by  the 
hand  of  taste,  and  afforded  a  pleasant  nook  for  read 
ing  and  contemplation.  The  garden  is  situated  in 
the  shelvy  rocks  which  form  the  right  bank  of  the 
Hudson,  about  fifty  or  sixty  rods  southerly  from  the 
point  on  which  the  monument  erected  by  the  Cadets 
to  the  memory  of  Kosciuszko  now  stands.  You 
descend  by  a  well  gravelled  path- way,  about  eighty 
feet,  not  uncomfortably  steep,  then  by  flights  of  steps 
forty  feet  more,  when  you  reach  the  garden — which 
is  a  surface  of  rock,  through  the  fissures  of  which 
spring  a  scanty  and  stunted  vegetation.  The  garden 
is  about  thirty  feet  in  length,  and  in  width,  in  its 
utmost  extent,  not  more  than  twenty  feet,  and  in 
some  parts  much  less.  Near  the  centre  of  the  garden 
there  is  a  beautiful  marble  basin,  from  whose  bottom 
through  a  small  perforation,  flows  upward  a  spring 
of  sweet  water,  which  is  carried  off  by  overflowing 
on  the  east  side  of  the  basin  towards  the  river,  the 
surface  of  which  is  about  eighty  feet  below  the  gar- 


6  PREFACE, 

den.  In  the  afternoon,  and  in  fact  for  a  greater  part 
of  the  day,  the  retreat  is  sunless,  and  if  the  wind 
is  southerly,  a  breeze  comes  up  the  river  to  make  the 
spot  delightfully  cool.  It  was  here,  when  in  its  rude 
state,  that  the  Polish  soldier  and  patriot  sat  in  deep 
contemplation  on  the  loves  of  his  youth,  and  the  ills 
his  country  had  to  suffer.  It  would  be  a  grateful 
sight  to  him  if  he  could  visit  it  now,  and  find  that  a 
band  of  youthful  soldiers  had,  as  it  were,  consecrated 
the  whole  military  grounds  to  his  fame.  His  martial 
spirit  would  take  fire  in  beholding  such  exact  mili 
tary  maneuvers,  as  are  exhibited  by  the  scientific 
corps  ;  and  in  the  pride  of  his  soul  he  would  declare 
that  a  country  who  gave  her  sons  such  an  education 
could  never  be  conquered  or  enslaved.  In  a  moody 
frame  of  mind  I  spent  several  hours,  occasionally 
glancing  on  the  pages  of  an  old  magazine  I  had 
taken  to  amuse  myself  in  this  retreat.  As  I  pored 
over  it,  my  eye  caught  a  page  containing  some 
sketches  of  the  genius  and  peculiarities  of^Raphael. 
Among  other  things,  it  was  stated  that  when  that 
great  artist  was  engaged  in  embellishing  with  his 
pencil  the  three  apartments  of  the  Vatican,  which 
are  now  the  glory  of  Rome,  that  he  sought  relaxation 
and  found  relief  by  changing  the  subjects  of  his  art. 
After  having  labored  on  his  great  Scripture  piece, 
which  he  was  unable  to  finish  without  penetrating 
the  empyrean  to  catch  a  sight  of  celestial  beings,  or 
entering  deep  into  the  infernal  regions  to  portray  some 
friend,  stretched  "  on  the  burning  marie  of  hell,"  he 
threw  aside  all  the  sublime  agonies  of  composition, 
and  came  down  to  light  and  playful  subjects.  He 
would  often  sketch  a  likeness  of  some  singular  looking 
person  on  his  thumb  nail,  as  the  traveller  passed  his 
window ;  or  call  up  to  his  mind  the  features  of  some 
loved  maid,  and  leave  her  image  on  the  margin  of 


PREFACE.  7 

a  favorite  book ; — then,  perhaps,  he  threw  down  his 
pencil,  to  catch  up  his  pen,  to  write  a  sonnet  to  the\ 
eye-brow  he  had  painted.     By  this  course  he  acquired  \ 
mental  vigor  to  again  reach  "  the  heaven  of  inven-    / 
tion"   exhibited   in  his    "TRANSFIGURATION,"   and/ 
other  mighty  works.      In  this  moment  of  dreamy 
Iassitnde3  the  thought  struck  me  forcibly,  that  this 
was  true  philosophy,  and  should  be  pursued  by  all 
who  felt  enfeebled  by  exertion,  whether  corporal  or 
mental.     The  example  indeed  was  a  lofty  one,  but  if 
in  morals  we  are  bound. to  take  infinite  perfection  as  a 
standard,  and  to  imitate  all  the  imitable  portions  of  the 
character  of  the  Author  of  the  Christian  religion,  is 
there  a  want  of  modesty  in  following  an  illustrious 
example  of  manners  and  habits  among  men  ?     The 
thought  no  sooner  entered  my  mind,  than  I  resolved 
to  try  the  experiment  of  recruiting  myself  by  writing 
a  series  of  short  tales,  and  brief  sketches,  and  before 
I  left  the  garden,  my  subjects  were  all  noted  down. 

These"  tales  are  mostly  founded  on  incidents 
in  real  life,  and  several  of  them  are  not  as  singular 
or  romantic  as  the  facts  or  the  chronicles  from  which 
they  were  drawn  would  warrant.  A  part  of  one  of 
these  tales,  "The  Lost  Child,"  was  written  several 
years  since,  but  circumstances  prevented  me  from 
finishing  it  until  now.  The  rest  of  them  are  as 
fresh  as  the  blossoms  of  June  were  when  I  conceived 
the  thought  of  writing  them,  whatever  may  be  their 
beauty  or  perfume. 

In  a  quotation  I  have  made  in  "  The  Acllahua," 
from  an  article  on  the  "  Last  of  the  Incas,"  it  will  be 
perceived  that  the  spelling  of  several  names  is  diifer- 
ent  from  the  one  I  have  adopted,  but  I  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  alter  any  thing  coming  from  the  pen  of 
such  an  accurate  and  classical  scholar  as  Caleb 
dishing. 


8  PREFACE. 

It  is  a  maxim  that  every  man  should  be  devoted  to 

some  duty,  as  life  is  short ;  but  most  assuredly  these 

duties  ought  not  all  to  be  severe  exertions  of  mind. 

\  There  should  be  some  indulgence  given  to  the  imagi- 

A  nation  ;  some  revelling  in  creations  of  our  own  :  or 

why  should  God  have  given  us  the  power  of  creating 

in  the  manner  he  has  ?     Nor  is  it  always  the  labor 

.  which  most  exhausts  the  body  and  mind,  that  is  the 

most  beneficial  to  society. 

The  botanist  who  discovers  some  new  plant  for 
food  or  medicine,  does  his  duty  as  well  as  the  sturdy 
artisan  who  fells  the  august  pine  destined  for  "  the 
mast  of  some  great  amiral." 

It  is  not  the  heaviest  work  that  requires  the  most 
mind  to  execute;  the  elegantly  little  often  requires 
more  skill  than  the  vast  and  magnificent.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  say  any  thing  more  upon  these  little 
efforts  of  my  leisure,  as^  they  contain  no  equivocal 
morals,  nor  advocate  any  strange  doctrines. 


THE     PROVOST     PRISON. 


"  The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine. 
But  only  hope !" 

';  I  have  hope  to  live,  and  am  prepar'd  to  die." 

THERE  is  no  spot  on  earth,  it  is  said,  but  has  supplied 
a  grave ;  and  it  may  be  added,  there  is  no  acre  of  ground 
we  tread  upon,  but  has,  if  we  knew  all  about  it,  some 
epic  tale  that  would  consecrate  its  memory,  and  excite 
our  lasting  wonder.  This  doctrine  was  forcibly  impressed 
upon  my  mind  a  few  days  since,  as  I  was  admiring  the 
lights  and  shadows  as  they  fell  upon  and  between  the 
Ionic  columns  of  the  finely  proportioned  Grecian  build 
ing,  on  the  east  side  of  the  Park,  near  the  City  Hall. 
As  I  stood  gazing  on  the  classic  edifice,  admiring  its 
symmetry  and  beauty,  a  friend  joined  me,  and  on  my 
informing  him  of  the  subject  of  my  contemplation, 
he  observed, — I  suppose  you  are  acquainted  with  the 
fact  that  this  building  now  turned  to  a  Grecian  Temple, 
was  the  old  jail  which  was  built  many  years  before  the 
revolutionary  war,  and  was  used  as  a  provost  prison,  after 
the  British  took  possession  of  the  city  of  New- York, 
until  the  war  closed.  If  these  walls  had  a  tongue,  said 
he,  how  many  tales  of  horror  could  they  relate  of  suffer 
ing  and  death.  Among  the  sad  stories  of  the  place, 

of  the  old  Sugar-house,  and  the  Jersey  prison-ship,  there 
2 


10  THE    PROVOST   PRISON. 

is  orie  which  was-  related  to  me  by  a  brave  officer  of  the 
're*pl?itioriary:  army,  lately  deceased,  and  which  has  fixed 
itself*  on  my  m'ihd  more  distinctly  than  any  other.  The 
officer  belonged  to  the  American  army,  which  in  the 
autumn  of  1776  was  at  West  Chester.  He  was  acting 
as  commissary  to  the  troops  of  the  Massachusetts  line, 
and  when  the  stock  of  provisions  grew  scarce,  he  took  a 
party  of  light  infantry,  and  went  out  to  collect  some  grain 
in  the  neighborhood.  Some  delay  occurring  by  the  break 
ing  down  of  a  wagon,  the  Americans  were  overtaken  by 
a  large  body  of  the  enemy,  both  infantry  and  cavalry, 
and  after  a  sharp  conflict  the  Americans  retreated  to  a 
wood  near  them,  and  made  their  escape.  The  commis 
sary  was  an  accomplished  swordsman,  and  being  well 
mounted,  he  did  not  attempt  to  reach  the  wood,  but  making 
a  desperate  struggle  for  life  and  liberty,  he  rushed  upon  the 
cavalry,  and  cutting  right  and  left,  while  his  horse  was  in 
full  speed,  passed  them  with  only  a  slight  wound  ;  but  he 
had  not  galloped  but  a  few  rods,  when  another  party  of 
horsemen,  coming  from  a  cross  road,  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  escape,  and  he  yielded  himself  a  prisoner,  which 
he  did  not  consider  much  preferable  to  death,  as  all  who 
were  captured  then  were  held  as  rebels,  and  liable  to 
suffer  death  at  the  caprice  of  their  captors ;  but  that 
they  might  not  proceed  to  extremities  was  all  the  conso 
lation  his  case  admitted  of.  British  officers,  among  whom 
were  many  humane  men,  justified  the  severity  then 
practised  towards  prisoners,  on  the  plea  that  severity  to  a 
few  would,  in  the  end,  be  mercy  to  many,  and  stop  the 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  11 

effusion  of  human  blood  by  bringing  about  a  speedy 
reconciliation  between  the  two  countries ;  but  those  who 
reasoned  in  this  way,  knew  nothing  of  the  people  they 
had  to  contend  with.  They  were  born  in  oppression,  and 
grew  by  it ;  they  had  known  no  indulgence,  and  they 
expected  no  protection.  In  the  constitution  of  every 
man  was  incorporated  an  indomitable  opposition  to  usurpa 
tion,  and  the  united  forces  of  the  world  could  not  have 
cured  them  of  their  republican  feelings. 

The  commissary  was  brought  to  the  city  and  thrown 
into  the  provost  prison.  He  had  fought  bravely,  and  this 
with  Britons  is  always  a  passport  to  esteem.  Some  of  his 
captors  told  the  orderly  who  conducted  him  to  prison,  to 
see  that  he  had  as  good  a  room  as  the  prison  afforded. 
But  while  they  performed  this  order,  they  robbed  him 
of  every  thing  valuable  about  his  person.  He  was  to 
have  the  best  room  in  the  prison ;  but  bad  indeed  was  the 
best !  It  was  a  room  in  the  south-western  corner  of  the 
building,  on  the  second  floor — not  more  than  twenty  feet 
by  sixteen  in  size.  In  this  room  were  crowded  eleven  poor 
wretches — a  selection  of  the  best  of  the  prisoners — those 
at  least  of  the  highest  grades  in  society.  All  but  one 
of  them  were  sick,  although  they  had  been  there  but  a 
few  weeks.  One  prisoner  in  particular,  attracted  the 
commissary's  attention.  The  sick  man  made  one  deep 
groan,  hid  his  face,  and  was  silent.  At  the  time  the 
commissary  entered  the  prison,  the  inmates  were  only 
allowed  one  solitary  tallow  candle  to  assist  them  in  their 
whole  operation  in  taking  care  of  the  sick  and  dying 


12  THE    PROVOST   PRISON, 

The  youth  who  was  on  the  floor  knew  his  neighbor  and 
his  father's  friend,  but  lie  had  made  up  his  mind  to  die 
without  a  murmur  or  sigh,  and  in  fact,  without  a  disclo 
sure  of  his  name;  but  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day. 
as  the  rays  of  the  sun  fell  through  the  grates  into  the 
room — there  was  no  City  Hall  there  at  the  time — the 
commissary  thought  the  countenance  of  the  youth  familiar 
to  him,  but  when  or  where  he  had  seen  him  he  could  not 
recollect.  This  often  happens  to  those  whose  lives  are 
spent  in  passing  from  one  part  of  the  world  to  another. 
As  the  surgeon,  a  good  jolly  looking  fellow,  entered  the 
room  on  a  visit  of  ceremony,  merely  to  take  an  account 
of  those  who  had  died  the  last  twenty-four  hours,  the 
commissary,  a  man  whose  appearance  bore  the  spirit 
of  command,  in  a  tone  not  altogether  familiar  to  the  ears 
of  the  surgeon  in  a  prison,  directed  him  to  attend  to  that 
youth,  and  to  have  him  removed  to  the  hospital. — Non 
sense  !  replied  the  leech,  he  was  sent  here  to  die.  I 
satisfy  my  conscience,  that  is  enough.  But  looking  on 
the  commissary  with  a  slight  degree  of  respect,  he  replied, 
if  you  wish  it,  I  will  look  at  his  case  ;  I  think  you  were 
the  officer  who  was  taken  yesterday,  and  brought  to  the 
city.  I  was  taken  yesterday,  was  the  answer.  Well,  well, 
said  the  surgeon,  I  have  just  been  to  visit  three  of  the 
number  of  those  you  wounded  in  the  fight  yesterday. 
What  a  terrific  cut  and  thrust  fellow  you  must  have  been 
to  have  given  so  many  shocking  wounds  as  you  did  in  a 
running  fight  for  life;  I  must  inform  you,  sir,  that  one 
of  the  wounded  officers  ordered  me  to  come  and  see  you} 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  13 

for  he  feared  that  you  had  received  a  sad  wound  in  the 
abdomen,  and  required  attention.  I  should  have  been  run 
through  the  body,  said  the  commissary,  if  the  point 
of  his  sword  had  not  been  stopped  by  striking  my  watch  ; 
this  preserved  my  life.  The  surgeon,  half  propitiated, 
called  out  to  the  young  man,  then  apparently  senseless 
before  him,  Boy,  open  your  eyes,  and  your  mouth, — let 
me  feel  of  your  pulse.  This  was  done  in  a  mechanical 
sort  of  manner  by  the  surgeon.  The  patient  obeyed. 
When  the  former  had  been  gone  through  with,  the  surgeon 
turning  to  the  officer,  said,  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  the  lad,  that  does  not  arise  from  hunger  and  grief. 
A  bowl  of  broth,  and  the  sight  of  his  mother,  would  cure 
him  in  a  short  time.  I  will  try  to  do  something  for  him. 
The  young  man  now  raised  himself  from  the  floor,  and  in 
the  most  courteous  manner  thanked  the  gentlemen  for  their 
kindness,  and  at  the  same  time  acknowledged  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  in  silence — for  he  had  joined  the 
army,  he  said,  against  his  parents'  advice,  having  run  away 
from  Harvard  College  for  that  purpose.  The  commissary 
soon  recognized  the  son  of  the  clergyman  of  his  own 
parish,  in  the  sick  youth  before  him.  The  surgeon  being 
made  acquainted  with  the  standing  of  his  patient,  was  still 
more  inclined  to  be  his  friend,  as  he  himself  was  the  son 
of  a  good  vicar  in  his  own  country.  In  a  short  time  re 
freshments  arrived,  and  the  youth  was  at  once  on  a  mend 
ing  hand,  and  continued  so,  taking  courage  from  the 
commissary's  firmness. 

On  the  evening  of  the  eleventh  day  after  his  capture, 

2* 


14  THE    PROVOST    PRISON. 

the  commissary  was  standing  at  the  grates  of  his  prison 
window,  catching  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and 
thinking  of  his  family,  his  country,  and  running  through 
a  long  series  of  melancholy  forebodings,  such  as  fill  the 
visions  of  a  father,  a  husband,  and  a  patriot  in  such  an 
hour,  when  he  was  summoned  to  an  audience  with  a 
stranger  in  the  jailer's  room.  Well,  he  exclaimed,  perhaps 
some  new  disaster ;  God  give  me  strength  for  the  occasion  ; 
I  will  not  distrust  him.  The  summons  was  imperative,  and 
as  he  entered  the  room,  a  stranger  in  the  garb  of  an 
officer  motioned  the  jailer  to  be  gone.  This  was  done 
with  the  air  of  one  having  authority ;  and  the  man 
of  bolts  and  bars,  of  chains  and  fetters,  instantly  retired. 
The  jailer  having  departed,  the  British  officer  addressed 
the  prisoner  in  the  following  categorical  manner.  Sir, 
were  you  ever  on  the  West  India  station  ?  I  have  often 
been  in  the  West  Indies,  was  the  reply ;  for  seven  years 
and  more  I  was  master  of  a  brig  in  that  trade,  from  this 
country.  The  next  question  was,  Do  you  recollect  having 
performed  any  act  on  that  station  in  1769,  which  you 
remember  with  pleasure  ?  No  sir,  said  the  commissary, 
I  do  not  recollect  any  thing  of  an  extraordinary  nature  in 
the  whole  course  of  my  life,  in  which  I  had  any  share, 
although  my  life  has  been  full  of  vicissitudes.  The  only 
thing  I  ever  thought  worth  mentioning  in  my  life,  is,  that 
during  the  whole  time  I  was  in  the  West  India  business, 
I  never  lost  a  man  by  disease  or  accident.  My  crews 
were  carefully  selected,  fed  well,  kept  cleanly  and  tem 
perate,  and  under  the  strictest  discipline.  They  would 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  15 

me  to  the  jeopardy  of  their  lives,  without  a  reluctant 
look  or  a  single  murmur.  This  is  very  well,  said  the 
stranger ;  but  do  you  not  recollect  leaping  into  the  sea 
when  a  young  Englishman  was  amusing  himself  in  the 
water,  and  a  cry  was  uttered  from  those  in  the  boat  that  a 
shark  was  near  ;  and  of  rescuing  that  young  man  from 
the  jaws  of  the  monster  ;  the  people  of  his  own  boat 
fearing  to  save  him  ?  The  fact,  sir,  is  within  my  recol 
lection,  if  it  is  of  any  importance  for  you  to  know  it,  said 
the  commissary  ;  but  I  must  add  in  justice,  that  it  did  not 
require  so  much  courage  as  you  imagine,  to  have  done 
this ;  my  faithful  black  man  was  with  me,  and  I  ordered 
him  to  leap  into  the  water  with  a  boat-hook,  and  attack  the 
shark,  while  I  swam  to  the  assistance  of  the  gentleman  ; 
and  Omar  gave  the  monster  a  wound  before  I  had 
reached  the  sinking  and  exhausted  swimmer.  The  black 
run  the  greatest  risk,  as  a  shark  is  guided  more  by  scent 
than  by  sight,  and  would  have  attacked  him  first.  Why, 
said  the  inquirer,  did  you  not  seek  out  the  gentleman 
you  saved,  and  at  least  have  witnessed  his  gratitude  after 
his  preservation  ?  I  did  not  see  him  afterward,  for  a  very 
good  reason,  said  the  commissary;  my  vessel  was  then 
ready  for  sea,  the  wind  was  fair,  and  I  was  taking  out  to 
her  the  last  article  for  our  voyage,  when  we  saw  the 
danger  of  the  young  officer  you  mention.  Have  you  any 
keep-sake  from  the  gentleman?  was  the  next  inquiry.  I 
took  the  gentleman  to  my  own  boat  rather  than  his,  as  mine 
was  low  in  the  water,  and  I  was  certain  of  the  assistance 
of  my  men  ;  his  clothes  were  brought  on  board  of  my 


16  THE    PROVOST    PRISON. 

boat,  and  some  days  afterwards  I  found  his  military  stock 
in  it.  I  saved  it,  and  finding  it  had  a  valuable  buckle,  I 
had  it  put  into  one  of  my  stocks ;  which  I  wore,  hoping 
one  day  to  have  an  opportunity  of  returning  it.  I  wore  it 
on  my  neck  the  day  I  was  taken  prisoner  by  your  forces. 
Should  you  know  the  buckle  without  the  stock  if  you 
could  examine  it,  inquired  the  stranger  ?  I  think  so, 
was  the  answer ;  but  I  prefer  not  to  be  interrogated  on 
this  subject,  said  the  commissary.  Yet  I  will  examine 
the  buckle  if  you  have  it.  The  buckle  was  produced, 
and  at  once  recognized.  The  British  officer  then  arose, 
and  with  the  greatest  emotion  grasped  the  hand  of  the 
prisoner,  and  declared  himself  to  be  Sir  John  Castlehouse, 
of  his  majesty's  service,  under  Sir  William  Howe,  com- 
mander-in-chief  in  America ;  and  greeted  the  commis 
sary  as  among  the  bravest  and  most  philanthropic  men 
he  had  ever  known, — and  added,  this,  sir,  is  the  happiest 
moment  of  my  life.  I  have  now,  thank  God,  an  opportu 
nity  of  making  some  return  to  one  who  has  ventured  his 
life  to  save  mine.  You  are  aware,  my  dear  sir,  said  Sir 
John,  that  you  are  all  considered  as  rebels,  and  no 
exchange  of  prisoners  can  be  made,  but  I  can  effect  your 
escape.  To  this  the  commissary  objected,  as  it  might  be 
the  means  of  bringing  evil  on  a  young  officer ;  but  the 
reply  was,  my  friends  and  family  connections  are  sufficient 
to  protect  me  in  such  a  course.  I  know  Sir  William  will 
forgive  me,  when  he  is  acquainted  with  my  motives  and 
my  obligations  to  you.  The  love  of  liberty  in  a  prisoner 
requires  but  few  arguments  to  be  brought  to  its  aid  to 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  17 

overcome  many  scruples  on  the  score  of  duty.  Sir  John 
wrote  a  note,  and  calling  his  servant  who  was  in  waiting, 
sent  it  off  at  once.  It  was  arranged  that  at  midnight  a 
horse  should  be  found  behind  the  fence  at  the  next  pas 
ture, — which  was  where  Walker-street  now  is, — and 
a  guard  ready  to  conduct  him  to  the  American  camp. 
The  prisoner  was  covered  with  the  British  officer's  cloak 
and  hat,  and  directed,  if  stopped  on  the  way,  to  give  his 
name  as  Sir  John  Castlehouse,  and  ride  on.  The  coun 
tersign  also  was  communicated.  All  being  in  readiness, 
Sir  John  inquired  if  Caesar  was  still  a  slave,  and  if  he 
was,  what  sum  would  liberate  him?  The  commissary 
answered  that  Caesar  was  a  free  man,  and  added,  he  was 
with  me  just  before  I  was  taken.  I  had  dispatched  him 
with  a  load  of  grain  for  the  camp,  when  I  was  surrounded 
by  your  forces.  A  purse  of  guineas  was  sent  to  Caesar. 
At  this  moment  the  commissary  took  occasion  to  name 
his  fellow-prisoner,  the  parson's  son,  and  the  kindness 
of  the  doctor.  They  shall  not  be  forgotten,  on  my  honor, 
was  the  brief  reply,  and  adding,  as  you  have  brought  the 
stock-buckle  for  me,  I  will  keep  it,  but  in  exchange  you 
must  take  the  one  I  now  wear.  After  some  hesitation  it 
was  accepted.  The  commissary  now  started,  and  reached 
in  safety  the  head-quarters  of  the  American  commander- 
in-chief.  The  officers  were  rejoiced  to  see  him,  but  he 
was  silent  on  the  mode  of  his  escape,  not  knowing  how 
the  event  might  affect  Sir  John. 

The  commissary  finding  that  his  health  was  impaired, 
returned  to  his  native  state,  and  when  recovered,  accepted 


18  THE    PROVOST    PRISON. 

the  command  of  a  large  armed  ship,  then  ready  for  sea. 
He  thought  himself  better  qualified  for  sea  service  than 
for  the  army.  During  the  six  years  of  the  war  which 
remained,  he  followed  the  seas  with  various  success,  but 
always  supporting  the  character  of  a  man  who  was  as 
humane  as  brave.  His  children  have  at  the  present  day 
many  acknowledgments  from  his  captives  of  his  genero 
sity  and  kindness.  If  for  a  moment  he  had  the  rough 
ness  of  the  sailor,  it  was  only  for  a  moment ;  the  better 
qualities  of  his  heart  always  predominated.  The  history 
of  his  adventures  during  the  war,  written  out,  would  make 
a  volume.  He  was  once  taken  and  carried  to  England, 
and  for  a  while  confined  in  Mill  Prison,  from  whence  he 
made  his  escape  to  France,  and  was  sent  from  thence 
with  dispatches  from  Dr.  Franklin.  These  were  brought 
and  preserved  in  the  crown  of  a  tarpaulin  hat,  which  was 
not  opened  until  he  reached  the  floor  of  Congress.  That 
body  passed  him  a  vote  of  thanks  for  his  important  servi 
ces,  but  forgot  to  think  of  any  remuneration.  Thinking, 
perhaps,  as  they  afterwards  said,  that  Dr.  Franklin  must 
have  taken  care  of  that ;  but  nothing  was  received  from 
Franklin,  as  the  minister's  certificate,  obtained  several 
years  afterwards,  states.  On  the  return  from  his  first 
cruise,  which  was  successful,  he  saw  the  collegian,  who 
informed  the  commissary  that  he  was  soon  taken  from  the 
prison,  and  set  to  copying  papers,  as  it  was  found  he 
wrote  an  excellent  hand,  and  in  a  few  months  released 
altogether,  and  suffered  to  depart  for  his  home,  and  provi 
ded  with  clothes  and  money ;  and  he  also  brought  the 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  19 

thanks  of  the  doctor  to  his  friend  who  introduced  his 
name  to  Sir  John.  The  baronet  instantly  took  him  into 
favor.  The  collegian  then,  is  now  a  venerable  clergyman, 
and  often  recounts  to  the  children  of  his  benefactor  the 
horrors  of  his  confinement,  and  the  services  their  father 
had  rendered  him, 

Several  years  after  the  peace  of  1783,  the  commissary, 
as  we  shall  continue  to  call  him,  for  so  did  his  acquaint 
ances,  although  he  had  served  but  a  short  time  in  that 
capacity,  and  many  years  as  a  mariner,  sailed  for  St. 
Petersburgh,  for  a  cargo  of  hemp  and  iron, — and  has  often, 
in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  stated  that  the  ship  he  com 
manded  was  the  first  American  vessel  that  gave  the  star- 
spangled  banner  to  the  breeze  in  St.  Petersburgh.  The 
event  excited  no  small  degree  of  attention  in  Russia ;  but 
what  gave  the  commissary  the  most  delight  was,  to  find 
Sir  John  Castlehouse  there  in  a  diplomatic  character. 
The  minister  treated  his  old  friend  with  every  mark 
of  attention  and  affection,  and  introduced  him  as  his  per 
sonal  benefactor  to  the  Empress  Catharine,  to  whom  the 
story  of  his  fearless  philanthropy  was  made  known.  She 
received  him  graciously,  and  turning  to  Sir  John,  she 
with  some  surprise  remarked,  "  This  native  American 
looks  very  much  like  an  Englishman.  Are  all  his  seamen 
of  the  same  complexion  ?  Do  they  build  their  own  ships, 
or  buy  them  from  the  English?"  Sir  John  replied  to 
these  questions  with  a  suppressed  smile,  in  a  manner  quite 
satisfactory  to  his  friend,  and  equally  astonishing  to  the 
Empress.  In  a  few  days  the  Empress  sent  for  the  com- 


20  THE    PROVOST   PRISON. 

missary,  and  offered  him  a  high  command  in  her  navy, 
saying  that  she  had  heard  from  Sir  John  the  history 
of  his  naval  exploits,  which  probably  had  been  a  little 
colored  by  the  warmth  of  friendship.  The  offer  was  met 
with  a  flow  of  gratitude,  but  the  purport  of  his  answer 
was,  that  having  a  family  in  America,  he  would  consult 
his  wife  upon  the  subject  on  his  return  home,  and  if  she 
approved  of  it,  he  would  accept  of  her  generous  offer  ; — 
and  added  also,  we  think  so  much  of  your  sex  in  our 
country,  that  it  is  a  maxim  with  us,  that  "  A  man  to  prosper 
in  any  undertaking,  must  consult  his  wife."  The  Em- 
press  smiled  at  the  compliment  to  her  sex,  and  observed, 
"  Then  if  your  wife  consents  to  visit  Russia,  I  may  expect 
your  services — the  place  shall  be  reserved  for  you  eighteen 
months."  The  Empress  issued  an  order  to  her  revenue 
officers  to  give  the  American  captain  every  facility  in 
obtaining  his  cargo,  and  fitting  his  ship  for  sea,  and  he 
found  this  of  no  small  importance  in  securing  dispatch 
and  in  lessening  expenses.  He  now  took  leave  of  Sir 
John,  with  a  presentiment  that  he  should  never  see  him 
again  "  'till  earth  and  ocean  render  up  their  dead."  No 
class  of  men  indulge  these  presentiments  more  than 
sailors,  and  in  this  case  it  was  a  true  one.  Sir  John  died 
of  the  liver  complaint  in  the  East  Indies,  in  military 
command  there  in  1799.  The  Calcutta  Hucarrah  speaks 
of  him  in  the  highest  terms  as  an  officer  and  a  gentleman. 
It  was  understood  that  he  had  made  a  will,  as  he  was  a 
bachelor  ;  but  it  was  never  found. 

In  October,  1826,  the  commissary  made  a  visit  to  the 


THE    PROVOST    PRISON.  21 

city  of  New- York  to  examine  the  old  jail.  It  was  on  the 
expiration  of  fifty  years  from  his  release.  The  building 
was  still  standing,  unchanged  in  the  slightest  degree. 
On  entering  within  the  walls,  it  is  true  he  did  not  see 
prisoners  dying  with  the  small-pox,  or  with  festering 
wounds  and  mutilated  limbs  ;  but,  in  their  stead,  there  was 
to  be  seen  a  miserable  group  of  poor  debtors,  half  naked, 
many  of  them  had  to  sleep  on  the  bare  floor,  and  to 
depend  on  accidental  charity  for  subsistence.  One  of 
them,  had  been  closely  confined  six  months,  because  he 
could  not  raise  fees  enough  to  take  advantage  of  the  poor 
debtor's  act.  The  old  gentleman's  heart  bled  to  think 
the  wretched  place  should,  after  half  a  century,  still  be  the 
abode  of  misery,  not  by  state  power,  but  by  individual 
oppression  ;  but  had  he  lived  a  few  years  longer  than  he 
did,  he  would  have  seen  an  entire  change  ; — the  dark  and 
awful  looking  walls  become  bright  and  luminous,  the  iron 
grates  and  bars  removed,  ponderous  Ionic  columns  arise 
on  the  front  and  rear  of  the  building,  exhibiting  the  finest 
architectural  light  and  shade  that  can  have  ever  been  ex 
hibited  in  Athens,  and  the  whole  edifice  devoted  to  the 
transactions  of  Probate  business,  and  the  preservation  of 
official  records  of  estates,  testate  and  intestate ;  and  what 
would  have  gladdened  his  heart  the  more,  he  would  have 
learnt,  that  the  power  of  one  individual  to  make  a  slave 
of  another  for  a  trifling  debt  had  been  abolished;  and 
that  the  reign  of  those  petty  tyrants,  hucksters  and 
pettifoggers,  was  nearly  over  throughout  his  whole 
country. 


THE    MANIAC 


"There's  a  daisy;  I  would  give  you  some  violets;  but  they 

withered  all,  when  my  Duncan  died;    They  say  he  made  a  good  end/' 

"  And  will  he  not  come  again? 
And  will  he  not  come  again  ? 
No,  no,  he  is  dead. 
Go  to  thy  death-bed, 
He  never  will  come  again." 

LAST  summer,  I  took  a  journey  with  an  old  friend,  who 
sometimes  was  silent  and  melancholy,  and  at  other  times 
whose  voice  would  flow  with  the  copiousness  and  sweet 
ness  of  St.  Winifred's  well.     When  melancholy,  he  might 
say  it  was  like  Jaques's,  "  compounded  of  many  simples, 
extracted  from  many  objects  ;   and,  indeed,  the  sundry 
contemplation  of  my  travels,  in  which  my  after  rumination 
wraps  me  in  a  most  humorous  sadness ;"  and  one  indeed 
who  sometimes  felt  the  taunting  retort  of  Rosalind  : — "  I 
fear  you  have  sold  your  own  lands,  to  see  other  men's." 
But  however  much  his  experience  may  have  cost  him,  he 
was  a  charming  companion  ;  one  who  had  a  story  for 
every  place,  and  a  moral  for  every  tale.      We  travelled 
northward,  up  the  majestic  Hudson,  to  Saratoga,  viewed 
the  battle   plain,   sailed  down  lake   George,   and  made 
minute  observations  on  the  features  of  this  classic  ground ; 
the  scene  both  of  success   and  defeat  to  England  and 
France  :  and  in  which  the  colonists  bore  a  suffering,  and 
in  the  end  a  triumphant  part.     When  we  had  reached  old 


24  THE   MANIAC. 

Ticonderoga  fort,  now  in  ruins,  but  still  the  wonder 
of  North  America,  my  friend  proposed  to  leave  me  to 
make  my  surveys  alone ;  as  he  wished,  he  said,  to  visit  a 
family  in  Vermont,  about  a  dozen  miles  from  the  ruins, 
whose  acquaintance  he  had  some  time  since  formed.  But 
as  it  was  rather  a  dreary  place  on  a  cloudy  day,  I  would 
not  consent  to  the  arrangement,  so  we  went  on  together, 
to  a  beautiful  thrifty  town,  which  showed  marks  of  taste 
and  wealth.  I  engaged  a  room  in  the  inn,  and  began  to 
Adonize  myself  for  the  dinner  table,  as  I  saw  by  the  com 
pany  there,  that  I  should  probably  dine  with  a  bevy 
of  fair  ladies. 

My  friend  had  been  absent  but  a  few  minutes,  when 
he  returned  with  a  gentleman,  who  came  to  insist  on  my 
company  to  dine  that  day  with  our  mutual  friend.  At 
the  hour  appointed,  I  went  to  the  house  alone  ;  my  com 
panion  had  returned  previously  with  the  gentleman,  to 
pass  an  hour  or  two  with  the  family  to  whom  he  seemed 
much  attached.  The  house  was  a  handsome  building,  in 
an  eligible  situation,  surrounded  by  the  finest  garden 
I  had  ever  seen  in  that  new  country ; — indeed,  the  garden 
seemed  a  spot  of  Fairy  land.  There  was  taste  and 
science  exhibited  in  every  labyrinth.  I  never  had  seen 
such  a  profusion  of  fruits  and  flowers,  and  yet  all  seemed 
to  have  been  done  with  taste  and  care,  rather  than  by  any 
extravagant  expenses.  I  took  several  turns  in  the  garden 
before  dinner  was  announced — and  on  entering  the  house, 
was  introduced  by  the  owner  of  the  mansion  to  a  lovely 
wife  and  four  healthy  well-behaved  children.  The  lady 


THE    MANIAC.  25 

was  well  informed,  and  presided  at  her  table  with  great 
dignity  and  ease.  Her  conversation  was  fluent  and  appro 
priate,  and  she  without  effort  made  her  guests  feel  at 
home  at  once  ;  with  delicacy  anticipating  their  wants, 
without  hastily  urging  the  supplies,  in  which  some  kind 
hostesses  think  a  cordial  welcome  consists.  After  dinner 
I  left  my  companion  in  conversation  with  the  host,  and 
strolled  into  the  garden  with  the  children,  who  had  been 
delighted  in  hearing  me  praise  it.  I  found  they  knew 
the  trivial  and  botanical  names  of  every  flower  and  plant 
about  them ;  and  on  inquiring  of  the  youngest  girl,  who 
had  instructed  her  in  botany?  she  replied,  Only  my 
mother  ;  she  has  taught  us  botany,  history,  astronomy  as 
far  as  we  have  gone.  The  professor  of  the  college  has 
been  engaged  by  father  to  give  us  two  lessons  a  week  in 
natural  philosophy  and  astronomy  next  winter ;  and 
mother  is  preparing  us  to  profit  by  them.  We  spent  the 
day  and  evening  with  the  family,  and  early  the  next  morn 
ing  prepared  to  return  to  finish  our  examination  of  the 
ruins  of  the  old  fort.  On  reaching  them  not  a  little 
fatigued,  we  sat  on  a  rock,  to  rest  ourselves  a  while.  My 
companion  asked  me  how  I  was  pleased  with  my  visit  ; 
and  on  expressing  my  delight  at  the  garden,  the  family 
and,  in  fact,  on  the  whole  of  the  little  excursion  into 
one  of  the  New-England  states,  where  we  had  seen  so 
much  gentility  and  received  such  a  hospitable  welcome  ; 
in  my  turn,  I  inquired  by  what  chance  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  a  family  living  so  much  out  of  the  course 

of  his  travels,  when  he  proceeded  to  make  the  following 
3* 


26  THE   MANIAC. 

statement : — Eighteen  years  ago,  this  very  month,  I  was 
sitting  on  this  identical  rock,  early  in  the  morning,  and 
pondering  upon  the  eventful  history  of  these  mighty  ruins, 
when  I  heard  a  faint  moan  issuing  from  among  the  subter 
ranean  passages,  and,  after  a  few  minutes'  search,  I  dis 
covered  a  girl  of  a  most  interesting  appearance,  fashiona 
bly  dressed,  setting  in  a  nook  of  them.  She  had  a  bunch 
of  flowers  in  her  hand,  and  was  talking  to  herself,  and 
uttering  some  incoherent  sentences  in  plaintive  accents, 
but  without  paroxysm.  She  seemed  to  wish  to  shun  me, 
but  as  she  passed  by  me,  she  uttered,  "  Duncan  was 
buried  here,  but  they  have  hid  his  grave,  so  that  I  cannot 
find  it,"  and  then  lifting  up  her  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
said,  "  Will  you  not  tell  me  where  it  is  ?"  I  endeavored 
to  soothe  her,  and  made  a  show  of  attempting  to  find  the 
spot  where  Duncan  was  buried,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
engage  her  in  conversation,  -to  discover  her  place  of  resi 
dence,  that  I  might  restore  her  to  her  friends ;  but  before 
I  could  get  any  satisfactory  answer  on  this  score,  several 
gentlemen  made  their  appearance,  who  had  been  in  search 
of  her,  and  were  rejoiced  at  finding  her.  On  my  stating 
to  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  one  of  the  number,  all  I 
knew  about  her  visit  to  the  ruins,  he  announced  himself  to 
be  her  father,  and  stated  that  he  lived  about  twelve  miles 
distant  from  where  we  then  were  ;  and  without  hesitation 
gave  me  this  narrative  :  "  When  General  McComb,  with 
Commodore  McDonough,  was  defending  our  state  at 
Plattsburgh,  the  militia  organized  themselves  throughout 
the  state,  and  we  were  not  backward  in  our  town.  Among 


THE    MANIAC.  27 

those  who  started  with  alacrity,  were  two  young  men 
of  my  acquaintance,  a  lawyer  and  a  merchant,  who  were 
volunteers.  The  lawyer  was  elected  a  captain  of  a  com 
pany,  and  the  merchant  a  lieutenant.  The  latter,  when 
he  arrived  at  Plattsburgh,  with  the  consent  of  his  captain 
and  superior  officers,  volunteered  to  take  command  of  a 
corps  of  infantry  to  serve  as  men  of  all-work  on  board 
of  the  fleet.  He  had  been  long  acquainted  with  Commo 
dore  McDonough,  who  knew  the  sterling  courage  and 
real  moral  worth  of  his  friend.  The  fight,  as  you  know, 
was  one  both  fierce  and  bloody.  At  the  close  of  the 
action,  Lieutenant  Duncan  was  killed,  fighting  by  the 
side  of  the  gallant  commander,  while  in  the  arduous  dis 
charge  of  his  duty.  Until  the  news  of  his  death  reached 
us,  I  had  not  the  slightest  thought  that  my  daughter's 
affections  were  engaged  to  Duncan.  Nor  do  I  now 
believe  that  there  was  any  thing  settled  between  them. 
She  had  been  viewed  with  partial  eyes  by  both  the 
gentlemen;  and  perhaps  in  that  playful,  giggling  age,  she 
might  have  been  courteous  to  both,  without,  at  that 
time,  having  made  a  decision  as  to  either ; — and  sure  I 
am  that  neither  had  made  any  direct  advances.  For  such 
was  her  openness  and  singleness  of  heart,  that  she  would 
have  communicated  the  fact  to  me  or  her  mother.  They 
were  both  excellent  young  men,  and  the  preference 
would  have  without  hesitation  met  my  decided  approval, 
although  I  should  have  preferred  Captain  Darlington,  per 
haps  for  no  other  reason  than,  as  I  had  often  consulted 
him  in  my  business,  I  knew  him  better  than  I  did 


28  THE   MANIAC. 

Duncan.  The  body  of  Duncan  was  brought  by  the 
request  of  the  whole  village,  to  be  buried  in  my  town,  and 
I  offered  my  own  tomb  on  the  occasion.  My  own,  I  say — 
the  one  I  built  and  expect  to  repose  in.  The  body  was 
buried  with  military  honors — the  scene  was  imposing. 
The  people  turned  out  in  a  body  to  honor  his  memory. 
The  unmarried  ladies  walked  two  and  two,  at  the  funeral 
dressed  in  white,  with  a  black  ribbon  in  their  bonnets  or 
hair.  On  this  day  it  was  remembered,  and  which  proved 
true,  that  in  Duncan's  pocket-book  a  note  was  found, 
addressed  to  my  daughter.  Suggestions  of  his  being 
engaged  to  her  were  made,  as  will  always  happen  on 
such  occasions.  It  was  affectionate,  but  made  no  direct 
intimation  of  any  engagement.  The  note  was  something 
like  this  : 

'  On    Ship    Board. 
Dear  Isabella, 

The  enemy  are  now  bearing  down  upon  us ;  the 
conflict  will  be  severe.  I  hope  you  will  not  think  me 
influenced  by  any  unmanly  fears,  but  I  have  a  presenti 
ment  that  this  day  will  be  my  last.  Give  your  whole 
heart  to  Darlington  ;  he  deserves  your  affections  ;  he  is  a 
noble  fellow.  I  have  this  morning  made  my  will,  and 
you  and  he  are  heirs  of  the  little  earnings  I  may  die 
possessed  of. 

Yours  truly,  J.  D.' 

"  This  note  reached  my  daughter  by  some  injudicious 
friend,  as  she  was  suffering  under  a  slow  nervous  fever, 
and  it  made  a  sad  impression  on  her  mind,  which  all 
our  efforts  could  not  counteract.  She  continually  dwelt 
upon  the  thought  of  his  death,  night  and  day ;  she 


THE    MANIAC.  29 

declared  that  she  was  solemnly  engaged  to  Duncan, 
although  it  was  not  the  fact ;  and  she  blamed  herself  for 
permitting  him  to  go  to  the  battle-field.  She  had  a  sound 
mind,  and  a  pure  heart ;  and  if  she  had  been  in  health, 
would  have  mourned  Duncan  as  a  friend,  but  would  not 
have  bewailed  him  as  a  lover.  She  was  fully  aware  of  the 
superior  talents  of  Darlington — but  there  was  something  in 
the  chivalrous  character  of  her  friend  who  had  fallen  at 
the  post  of  honor,  that  took  entire  possession  of  her  soul. 
She  fell  at  once  into  a  delirium  which  was  mild  and 
gentle.  She  amused  herself  with  little  cares,  and  never 
until  yesterday  discovered  the  slightest  disposition  to 
wander  from  home.  She  spends  most  of  her  time  in 
reading  and  making  garments  for  the  poor ;  and  of  late 
has  been  wonderfully  calm."  I  found  that  the  young 
gentleman  who  was  with  the  father  was  counsellor  Dar 
lington.  He  seemed  depressed,  and  treated  the  maniac 
with  the  greatest  attention.  I  compassionated  his  situa 
tion,  and  endeavored  to  draw  him  into  a  confidential 
conversation.  This  was  not  a  difficult  task ;  for  a 
wounded  bosom  pours  out  its  griefs  to  all  who  search 
it  with  the  appearance  of  kindness.  I  stated  to  him  that, 
from  having  a  brother  bereft  of  reason,  I  had  long  been 
in  the  habit  of  examining  the  diseases  of  the  mind,  and 
was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  this  case  belonged  to  a 
curable  class.  He  was  impatient  to  be  acquainted  with 
the  course  I  should  recommend ; — but  there  was  still  a 
look  of  incredulity  on  his  countenance.  I  remarked  to 
him,  that  I  had  observed  that  she  had  a  bunch  of  fresh 


30  THE    MANIAC. 

flowers  in  her  hand,  when  I  first  saw  her.     Does  her 
father,  said  I,  cultivate  a  garden  ?     His  reply  was,  he  has 
a  large   kitchen  and  fruit  garden,  with   some   grounds 
devoted  to  flowers,  but  these  I  believe  she  planted  before 
she  was  taken  ill,  after  she  had  left  school.     It  is  a  fine 
piece  of  land,  and  capable  of  great  improvement.     Have 
you  a  sister  ?  was  my  next  inquiry.     I  have,  he  replied, 
a  fine,  intelligent,  sprightly  girl ;  one  of  the  least  selfish 
ness  I  ever  saw  ;  devoted  to  me  and  a  friend  to  Isabella. 
Enough,  said  I,  she  must  be  the  principal  agent  in  my 
surgery.     Make  them  constant  companions,  without  any 
third    person   to    interfere    with    their   amusements,   or 
friendships.     Let  her  father  employ  a  gardener,  and  put 
the  whole  direction  of  his  labors  under  the  superintend- 
ance  of  the  two  girls.     Ransack  the  country  for  flower 
seeds,  and  plants  ; — present  them  with  singing  birds  ; — 
the  note  of  the  canary  is  cheerful,  and  the  bird  is  hardy. 
Encourage    the    neighbors   to   visit  the   garden   for  its 
flowers,  plants,  and  its  aviary  ; — have  some  shrubs  and 
bushes  and  seeds  to  dispose  of.     The  cheerful  young  girls 
will  come  for  such  presents.     Throw  on  her  work-table 
some  splendid  editions  of  such  gentle  poets  as  Thompson, 
Goldsmith,  and   Cowper  ; — unite  with  them  a  port-folio 
of  fine  engravings,  and,  if  possible,  get  them  to  copy  some 
of  the  simplest,  such  as  will  rather  amuse  than  fatigue 
the  artist.     Make  the  employment  as  constant  as  their 
constitutions   will   bear.      Do   not  suffer   them   to   hear 
a  gloomy   word,  from   any  one  ;  but,  if  possible,   give 
a  perpetual  sunshine  to  the  soul. 


THE    MANIAC.  31 

Much  other  conversation  ensued,  and  I  took  my  leave 
Y>f  them.  Ten  years  passed  away  ;  principally  in  Europe, 
and  the  incident  had  quite  gone  from  my  memory.  On 
my  return  to  my  native  country,  after  a  few  weeks  spent 
among  kindred  and  friends,  at  the  East,  I  visited  Wash, 
ington,  during  a  session  of  Congress,  and  the  first  evening 
after  my  arrival  attended  the  President's  levee ;  the 
rooms  were  crowded  to  excess ;  a  gentleman  passed  me 
several  times,  and  gave  me  a  very  piercing  glance,  and  at 
length  came  up  to  me,  and  inquired  if  he  had  not  the 
pleasure  once  of  seeing  me  at  Ticonderoga.  The  address 
brought  to  my  mind  the  whole  story  of  the  maniac  girl. 
I  am  a  member  of  Congress  from  Vermont,  said  he,  the 
gentleman  you  conversed  with  upon  the  subject  of  the 
diseases  of  the  mind,  at  Ticonderoga.  In  the  case  of  the 
young  lady,  I  followed,  with  the  aid  of  her  father  and  my 
sister,  your  directions  to  the  very  letter,  and  the  experi 
ment  was  successful  in  a  very  short  time.  Isabella  is 
now  Mrs.  Darlington,  in  possession  of  as  sound  a  mind 
as  that  of  any  one  in  this  crowd.  She  is  well  aware 
of  your  advice,  and  has  long  been  desirous  of  seeing  you. 
Be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  your  name,  and  I  will  introduce 
you  to  her  now.  I  was  so  absorbed  in  your  directions 
during  our  interview  at  the  fort,  that  I  forgot  to  take  your 
address.  I  handed  him  my  card,  and  he  then  presented  me 
to  the  most  elegant  woman  in  the  room.  She  had  caught 
my  attention  early  in  the  evening,  and  for  some  undefined 
reason,  I  felt  that  she  was  nearer  to  me  than  the  rest  of  the 
females  in  the  crowd.  We  were  acquainted  in  an  instant, 


32  THE    MANIAC. 

and  entered  into  conversation  as  old  friends.  She  took  my 
arm  for  a  stroll  through  the  apartments,  and  as  though  by 
accident,  although  I  surmised  that  there  might  be  a  little 
design  in  it,  led  the  way  to  the  circular  room,  whose 
windows  were  filled  with  flowers  and  plants  ;  and  bending 
over  a  Daphna  Odora,  then  in  full  bloom  and  fragrance, 
in  a  sweet  undertone,  said,  I  have  a  fine  one  in  my 
garden — I  call  it  the  stranger.  My  husband  has  named 
it,  "  the  medicine  of  the  mind."  It  was  named  for  you — 
for  it  was  while  tending  that  flower,  that  I  was  first 
conscious  that  times  had  passed  over  me,  and  that  I  was 
now  restored  to  reason.  With  its  odor  ascended  my 
thanksgiving  hymn  to  Heaven  for  my  recovery.  The 
plant  has  been  cherished  with  fondness  ever  since.  In 
the  midst  of  my  mental  aberrations,  I  had  some  vague 
impression,  that  the  gentle  course  my  friends  were  pursu 
ing  in  opposition  to  the  advice  of  my  physician,  had 
come  from  the  recommendation  of  the  stranger  who 
addressed  me  in  such  compassionate  tones,  in  the  ruins 
of  the  old  fort.  I  often  go  there  to  pour  out  my  gratitude 
for  my  restoration, — which  has  been  so  perfect  that  not  a 
cloud  has  passed  over  my  mind  since.  She  continued,  I 
need  not  add,  that  it  would  give  my  husband  and  my 
father  great  pleasure  to  see  you  in  Vermont.  I  wish 
to  show  my  garden,  and  my  library,  which  are  after  your 
model.  My  female  friend  and  dear  sister-in-law  is 
a  happy  wife  and  mother ;  we  live  together  as  affection 
ately  as  your  heart  could  wish." 

I  saw  the  happy  couple  every  day  I  was  in  Washing- 


THE    MANIAC.  33 

ton,  and  parted  with  them,  giving  them  a  promise  that  if  I 
ever  came  within  fifty  miles  of  their  residence  on  business 
or  pleasure,  that  I  would  travel  that  distance  to  be  a  witness 
of  their  felicity.  Yesterday,  as  we  were  examining  these 
ruins,  my  promise  came  forcibly  to  my  mind,  and  I  at 
once  decided  on  the  visit.  Do  not  say  hereafter,  that  old 
bachelors  do  no  good  as  they  wander  about  the  world ; 
for,  at  the  very  time  I  gave  the  advice  for  healing  the 
wounds  of  the  mind,  I  took  from  my  pocket  a  horse- 
chestnut  and  planted  it  at  my  feet ;  and  the  tree  which 
sprang  from  it  is  now  shading  your  head,  and  shedding 
its  blossoms  around  you. 


THE    BLACKSMITH; 

OR,    THE    INFLUENCE    OF   LETTERS    UPON    MORALS, 


A  scrap  of  domestic  history. 


Break  from  thy  body's  grasp  thy  spirit's  trance  : 
Give  thy  soul  air,  thy  faculties  expanse. 
Knock  off  the  shackles  which  thy  spirit  bind 
To  dust  and  sense,  and  set  at  large  thy  mind  ! 
Then  move  in  sympathy  with  God's  great  whole, 
Arid  be,  like  man  at  first,  "  a  living  soul." — DAK  A. 

SEVERAL  years  ago,  before  Lord  Chancellor  Brougham 
was  editor  of  a  penny  magazine,  or  ever  we  had  heard  of 
the  great  efforts  of  learned  men  in  England  to  diffuse  in 
formation  among  the  humble  classes  in  that  country,  a 
young  gentleman,  who  was  a  member  of  a  literary  society 
in  New-England,  which  had  for  its  object  mutual  improve 
ment,  and  the  diffusion  of  letters  among  the  rising  genera 
tion,  took  a  bundle  of  children's  books  in  his  chaise-box, 
as  he  was  setting  out  on  a  journey  into  the  country.  His 
intention  was  to  hand  them  to  a  clergyman,  or  school 
master,  as  he  passed  through  some  obscure  town  ;  but 
he  soon  forgot  that  he  had  them  in  his  possession.  Having 
travelled  two  or  three  days,  his  horse  cast  a  shoe  ;  and,  on 
inquiry,  much  to  his  annoyance,  he  learned  that  there  was 
no  blacksmith  to  be  found  within  a  mile;  the  informant 
assuring  the  traveller,  "  That  if  the  smith  was  sober,  he 
would  shoe  his  horse  as  well  as  any  man  in  those  parts," 
When  the  traveller  reached  the  blacksmith's  shop,  he 


36  THE    BLACKSMITH. 

found  him  quite  sober;  his  eldest  son,  he  said,  had  gone 
to  the  store,  four  miles  off,  to  get  a  jug  of  rum ;  and  as 
he  must  work  alone,  it  would  take  him  some  time  to  make 
and   set  the   shoe.      The   gentleman    was  requested   to 
walk  into  the  house  to  rest  himself,  while  the  smith  was 
at  work.     The  house,  on  the   outside,  presented  every 
appearance  of  poverty  and  wretchedness  ;  it  had  battens 
on   the  roof  for  shingles,  and  the  top   of  the   chimney 
ascended  but  a  few  inches  above  the  ridge-pole.     Yet 
the  outward  aspect  of  the  house  was  princely  when  com 
pared  with  the  interior.     It  had  been  intended  for  three 
rooms  on  the  floor,  but  there  was  neither  lath,  plaster,  or 
jointed  boards,  by  way  of  partition,  to  be  seen — a  few 
rough  boards  marked,  rather  than  made,  a  distinction  in 
the  building.     The  garret, — for  the  house  was  only  one 
story  high, — was  ascended  by  a  short  ladder.  The  furniture 
in  this  part  of  the  premises  consisted  of  two  beds, — if 
such  a  mass  of  rags  as  were  exhibited  to  view  could  be 
so  called, — with  some  tattered  blankets,  which  showed 
that  a  portion  of  the  family  slept  there.     Three  wooden 
bottomed   chairs,  a  table,    a  milk-pan,   and   a   few   tin 
measures,  made  up  a  good  part  of  the  moveables  in  the 
lower  story.     There  was  a  large  quantity  of  ashes  in  the 
fire-place,  covered  with  potato-skins,  and  a  kettle  standing 
near,  which  bore  evident  marks  of  recent  use  in  making 
hasty-pudding.     There  was  a  window  and  two  port-holes 
in  the  main  room ;  several  panes  of  glass  had  been  broken 
in  the  window,  their  places  being  supplied  by  bundles 
of  rags.     A  dirty  singed  cat  slept  close  to  the  ashes ; 


THE    BLACKSMITH.  37 

when  her  mistress  attempted  to  drive  her  away,  she 
slowly  arose,  and  stretching  one  leg  after  another,  and 
partially  opening  her  eyes,  leisurely  moved  off.  She  was 
just  such  a  grimalkin  as  a  rat  would  like  to  see — one  too 
indolent  to  do  him  any  harm.  Near  one  of  the  beds,  a 
short-legged  big-headed,  mongrel,  surly  dog  reared  him 
self  to  eye  the  stranger,  but  on  his  growling  several  times, 
the  woman  gave  him  a  kick,  and  sent  him  yelping  out 
of  doors.  By  way  of  treating  her  guest  with  great 
civility,  the  mistress  of  the  house  took  up  the  broom,  and 
began  to  sweep  a  spot  for  him  to  place  his  chair.  "  She 
was  sorry,"  she  said,  "  that  her  house  was  so  dirty,  but 
her  child  had  been  sick  for  several  days,  and  had  taken 
up  all  her  time.'3  The  traveller  had  not  before  noticed  a 
child  in  one  of  the  beds,  of  about  three  years  old,  pale, 
emaciated,  and  listless.  The  mother  observed  "  that  within 
two  days  it  had  been  very  sick,  and  that  she  had  not  had 
a  drop  of  rum  to  give  her,  but  hoped  her  son  Jim  would 
be  along  soon  from  the  store,  and  then  she  should  have 
something  to  offer  the  gentleman  to  drink."  In  a  short 
time,  the  son  made  his  appearance.  He  was  a  tall 
athletic  fellow,  whose  whole  dress  consisted  of  a  tow-cloth 
shirt  and  pantaloons ;  he  was  bare-footed  and  bare 
headed  ;  when  he  went  to  the  store,  he  had  borrowed  his 
father's  hat  to  wear,  but  on  entering  the  house  he  threw 
it  off.  His  hair  was  long  and  matted,  looking  defiance  to 
comb  or  brush,  things  which  it  had  never  known.  His 
brawny  arms  were  naked,  his  shirt  sleeves  being  rolled 

up ;  and  his  whole  appearance   was  that  of  Caliban's, 

4* 


38  THE    BLACKSMITH. 

| 

before  he  had  been  taught  human  language  by  Prospero  : 
but  there  was  a  good  nature  in  his  face,  unlike  the 
expression  of  Sycorax's  son ;  and  after  he  had  drank  his 
fill,  he  seemed  ready  to  say, 

"t  pray  thee,  let  me  bring  thee  where  crabs  grow  ; 
And  I,  with  my  long  nails,  will  dig  thee  pig-nuts  ; 
Show  thee  a  jay's  nest,  and  instruct  thee  how 
To  snare  the  nimble  marmozet ;  I'll  bring  thee 
To  clustering  filberts,  and  sometimes  I'll  get  thee 
Young  sea-mells  from  the  rock." 

Jim's  arrival  was  a  jubilee;  the  jug  went  round 
briskly,  and  each  one  poured  out  what  he  wanted  into  a 
tin  dipper,  or  broken  mug,  and  diluting  the  liquor  a  little 
with  some  excellent  water,  took  a  hearty  swig.  The 
mother  sweetened  some  of  the  rum  with  maple-sugar, 
and  mixing  with  it  a  little  milk  and  water,  gave  it  to  the 
child  as  food  and  medicine.  The  little  wretch  raised  her 
head  to  take  the  dose,  as  familiarly  as  she  would  to  have 
drank  a  cup  of  pure  milk.  "  There  dear,  it  will  do  you 
good,"  said  the  mother,  "  now  go  to  sleep,  and  get  well." 
Turning  to  the  stranger,  she  said,  "  she  hoped  the  gentle 
man  would  drink  with  them,  if  they  were  poor  folks;" 
but  he  politely  declined,  much  to  their  disappointment 

After  the  father  and  son  had  gone  into  the  shop  to 
resume  their  labors,  the  traveller  made  some  inquiries 
of  the  woman  about  her  family.  He  found  she  had  five 
children  living.  "  Jim"  was  the  first-born ;  the  two  next 
were  boys,  then  gone  a  fishing ;  the  fourth  was  a  daughter, 
then  about  thirteen  years  old  ;  and  the  one  in  the  bed 
made  up  the  number.  "  Lucy,  the  eldest  daughter,"  she 
said,  "  did  not  live  at  home,  but  with  Deacon  Thompson, 


THE   BLACKSMITH.  39 

a  very  nice  man,  who  had  sent  her  to  school,  and  she 
could  now  read  the  Bible  and  the  newspaper.  No  one  of 
the  family  but  Lucy  took  to  learning;  in  fact,  they  did  not 
know  a  letter  of  the  alphabet."  The  traveller  now  recol 
lected  his  bundle  of  books,  and  brought  it  from  his  chaise- 
box  into  the  house.  On  examining  it  he  found  that  the 
assortment  was  such,  as  to  form  a  pretty  little  library  for 
Miss  Lucy.  Taking  out  his  pencil,  he  wrote  a  note  in 
one  of  the  books  to  Deacon  Thompson,  presenting  the 
whole  of  them  to  Miss  Lucy  Danforth,  then  under 
his  care,  requesting  him  to  see  that  she  was  not  deprived 
of  them  by  any  one.  The  horse  being  shod,  Jim  was 
hired  to  set  off  to  the  Deacon's  with  the  bundle — the 
poor  fellow  not  knowing  that  he  was  carrying  a  present  to 
his  sister.  The  traveller  continued  his  journey,  and  the 
incident  soon  passed  from  his  mind,  amid  the  pleasures 
and  cares  of  the  world. 

Some  few  years  after  this  event,  the  traveller  was  called 
to  see  his  friends  on  the  same  route.  As  he  passed 
the  site  of  old  Danforth's  blacksmith  shop,  he  saw  that 
new  buildings  had  been  erected ;  and  he  internally 
exclaimed,  thinking  that  the  place  had  passed  into  the 
hands  of  some  new  proprietor,  "  so  pass  away  the  wicked." 
The  traveller  had  proceeded  but  a  mile  or  two,  when  he 
saw  that  a  thunder-cloud  hung  on  his  rear,  and  that  it 
was  time  for  him  to  seek  a  shelter.  As  he  was  driving 
by  a  good  looking  farm-house,  he  saw  a  venerable  gentle 
man  standing  at  the  door,  apparently  watching,  with  great 
anxiety,  the  approaching  tornado.  Bowing  to  the  traveller, 


40  THE    BLACKSMITH. 

he  invited  him  to  put  his  horse  in  the  barn,  or  under  the 
shed,  and  to  tarry  with  him  until  the  storm  should  have 
passed  over.  The  invitation  was  gratefully  accepted. 
The  shower  was  preceded  by  a  "  mighty  wind."  While 
this  was  passing  over,  the  good  old  man  remained  quiet  ; 
but  so  soon  as  the  thunder  began  to  roar,  he  seemed  much 
agitated.  He  was  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  at  a 
table,  on  which  was  placed  an  open  Bible,  from  which  he 
read  a  few  verses,  as  a  sort  of  propitiatory  offering  to  the 
"God  who  speaketh  in  the  thunder,  and  rideth  upon 
the  wings  of  the  wind."  Seeing  the  traveller  perfectly 
unmoved,  and  even  enjoying  the  sublimity  of  the  scene, 
the  old  man  lifting  up  his  pale  face,  inquired,  "  if  he 
did  not  feel  terrified  at  such  a  demonstration  of  God's 
wrath?"  "No,"  was  the  reply;  "I  do  not  consider  it 
such  a  demonstration,  but  rather  a  proof  of  his  goodness. 
This  phenomenon  is  resolved  to  causes  as  natural  as  the 
flowing  of  the  brook  which  bubbles  by  your  door ;  and 
probably  more  have  been  drowned  in  its  lovely  waters, 
than  have  ever  been  killed  by  lightning  within  fifty  miles 
of  you."  After  a  pause,  the  old  man  said,  he  believed  that 
was  true  ;  and  mentioned  several  who  had  been  drowned 
in  his  neighborhood,  but  could  think  of  but  one  who 
had  been  killed  by  lightning.  The  traveller  remarked, 
that  God  was  never  angry ;  it  was  only  a  human  phrase. 
He  sometimes  punished,  in  justice,  but  not  so  often  by 
fire  as  by  pestilence.  The  very  thunder  and  lightning,  he 
added,  was  sent  for  our  benefit,  as  it  was  a  great  purifier 
of  the  air.  "  Well,  that  is  true,"  said  the  old  man.  The 


THE    BLACKSMITH.  41 

traveller  continued,  and  explained  the  phenomena  of  the 
lightning-flash  and  the  thunder-clap,  and  before  the  storm 
had  subsided,  the  veteran  seemed  calm,  and  wrapt  in  a 
course  of  reasoning  with  himself  upon  the  subject.  In 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  Bible,  the  traveller  saw  on 
the  blank  leaf  between  the  Old  and  New  Testaments,  the 
name  of  James  Thompson,  and  his  family  record.  The 
thought  of  Lucy  Danforth  came  across  his  mind,  but  he 
was  almost  afraid  to  inquire  after  her.  At  length,  how 
ever,  he  asked,  "Who  now  occupies  the  place  where 
Danforth,  the  blacksmith,  was  living  some  six  or  seven 
years  ago?"  The  reply  was,  "  Danforth  himself  and  his 
family."  "  You  must  be  a  stranger  in  these  parts,"  said 
the  Deacon,  "  if  you  have  never  heard  of  the  great 
change  in  the  life  of  the  blacksmith  down  there."  The 
traveller  having  assured  the  Deacon  that  he  was  indeed  a 
stranger,  listened  to  the  Deacon's  recital  with  great 
interest. 

The  old  man  commenced  with  the  shoeing  of  the 
noble  horse — (indeed  he  was  truly  so) — and  of  the  gift  of 
the  stranger  to  the  child.  All  was  given  with  minuteness, 
and  the  account  brought  to  his  recollection  many  remarks 
he  had  made  at  the  time,  which  had  before  escaped  his 
memory.  The  Deacon  said,  "  I  received  the  books,  with 
this  pencil  note,"  (which  he  had  preserved,)  "  for  Lucy 
Danforth."  The  traveller  recognised  his  own  hand,  and 
faintly  inquired  if  Lucy  was  yet  living.  "  O,  yes,"  was 
the  reply  ;  "she  is  to  be  married  at  my  house,  in  a  few 
days,  to  Doctor  Moore,  a  very  likely  man.  She  is  a  fine 


42  THE  BLACKSMITH. 

child,  and  has  been  the  making  of  the  whole  family, 
Soon  after  the  stranger,  as  he  signed  himself,  gave  her 
the  books,  she  visited  her  father,  and  read  some  of  the 
tales  to  him  ;  he  was  a  man  of  strong  mind,  notwithstand 
ing  his  ignorance  ;  and  from  the  pride  he  felt  that  his 
daughter  was  able  to  read,  and  from  his  gratitude  to  the 
stranger, — for  he  had  always  said  that  he  had  treated  his 
family  like  a  prince, — he  was  induced  to  hear  Lucy  read 
a  story  or  two.  He  declared  that  he  did,  upon  his  soul 
and  honor,  like  the  books.  'Jim/  and  the  other  boys, 
sat  grinning  by  her  side,  as  she  was  reading,  and  half 
hinted,  that  they,  too,  should  like  to  know  how  to  read. 
She  caught  the  hint,  and  began  to  teach  them.  The 
father  also  said  that  he  should  be  glad  to  read,  if  nobody 
should  know  that  he  was  '  schooling  of  it  in  his  old  age.' 
Silently  they  all  began — and  Lucy  came  once  every  day 
to  impart  to  them  a  portion  of  her  little  store  of  knowledge, 
without,  however,  making  it  known  to  the  neighbors, 
whose  laughs  and  sneers  they  feared.  She  continued  in 
this  course  until  all  could  read  the  Bible,  with  a  fair 
understanding  of  its  contents.  She  did  not  stop  here ; 
they  were  taught  to  write  as  well  as  to  read.  The  first 
development  of  this  fact  was  on  an  occasion  of  the  black 
smith's  buying  a  horse  and  wagon  of  one  of  his  neighbors. 
A  part  of  the  purchase-money  was  paid  down,  and  a  part 
was  to  be  paid  in  blacksmith's  work  ;  the  due-bill  for  the 

work  was  written  by  squire  K ,  of  whom  the  purchase 

was  made  ;  and  when  he  was  about  to  call  on  Danforth  to 
make  his  mark,  as  formerly,  the  old  man  said,  '  Squire^ 


THE  BLACKSMITH.  43 

you  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  write  my  name ;'  and, 
taking  up  the  pen,  wrote  William  Danforth  in  a  bold  and 
fair  hand.  This  was  strange,  and  no  one  could  explain 
the  mystery.  The  next  winter,  when  the  town  school 
was  opened,  Danforth's  boys  attended  on  the  first  day. 
The  teacher,  on  the  usual  examination,  found  them  among 
the  first  in  his  school.  This  was  another  miracle.  Short 
ly  after  this,  the  keeper  of  the  store  stated,  that  for  a 
whole  year  he  had  sold  the  Danforths  but  one  jug  of  rum, 
and  that  was  in  haying  time  ;  and  afterwards,  when  he 
stopped  to  have  his  horse  shod,  he  asked  for  something  to 
drink,  and  the  jug  was  produced,  with  scarcely  the  dimi 
nution  of  a  gill  from  its  original  contents.  A  meeting 
house  was  built  in  the  parish,  and  old  Danforth  bid  high 
for  a  large  pew  ;  this  so  delighted  and  wonder-struck  all, 
that  no  one  bid  over  him.  His  whole  family  came  to  hear 
the  gospel  preached,  in  neat  and  cleanly  apparel,  and  were 
attentive  to  the  preacher.  The  little  child,  who  had 
received  its  dose  of  rum  and  sugar,  djed ;  and  the  clergy 
man,  who  was  only  a  transient  preacher,  attended  the 
funeral,  and  made  some  judicious  observations  to  the 
parents,  and  the  brothers  and  sisters.  Lucy  was  still  the 
guardian  angel  of  the  family  ;  she  came  every  day,  while 
this  feeling  of  bereavement  was  upon  her  kindred,  and 
read  some  appropriate  story  from  the  books  she  had,  or 
from  such  as  she  obtained  from  the  library  which  had 
been  founded  in  the  parish,  to  which  she  had  access. 
The  temper  of  her  father  had  been  softened,  and  every 
&eed  now  sown  was  on  good  ground.  From  an  attendant 


**•• 

y^  V 

•*« 

^ 

THE  BLACKSMITH. 

on  public  worship,  he  became  a  member  of  this  church, 
without  a  particle  of  fanaticism  or  bigotry  in  his  composi 
tion.  His  business  increased  every  day ;  his  boys  became 
fine  mechanics  ;  his  shop  was  enlarged  to  meet  the  claims 
of  his  customers ;  and  his  wretched  mansion  was  soon 
removed,  and  another,  of  larger  dimensions,  and  greater 
conveniences,  erected  in  its  place.  The  daughter  had 
done  all.  If  the  Roman  daughter,  who  gave  her  teeming 
breast  to  preserve  the  life  of  her  father,  had  temples 
erected  to  her  memory — ought  not  she,  who  came  silently 
but  perseveringly  every  day,  to  cherish  the  mind  and 
raise  the  morals  of  her  father  and  kindred,  and  to  give 
religious  instruction  to  those  whom  she  saw  sunk  in  vice 
and  ignorance — ought  not  she  to  have  a  name  and  a  praise 
among  the  benefactors  of  mankind?" 

The  traveller  listened  to  the  tale  with  delight  and 
wonder.  He  exhibited  a  deep  interest  in  the  story,  and 
accepted  an  invitation  from  Deacon  Thompson  to  attend 
the  marriage  festival  of  Lucy  Danforth  the  next  week,  on 
his  return  from  visiting  his  friends.  As  yet  he  had  con 
trived  to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  was  the  early  patron  of 
Miss  Lucy — it  was  the  interest  which  he  had  manifested 
in  the  narrative,  that  procured  him  an  invitation  to  the 
wedding.  On  his  promising  to  return  on  the  appointed 
day,  he  left  for  Miss  Lucy  a  new  publication  of  Miss 
Edgeworth's,  that  he  had  taken  with  him,  for  perusal  on 
his  way  ;  and  on  the  title-page  he  traced  a  few  lines  to 
her.  Miss  Lucy  at  once  saw,  from  the  hand-writing,  that 
the  person  who  had  presented  her  with  the  library,  and 


THE  BLACKSMITH.  45 

the  one  who  had  promised  to  attend  her  wedding,  were 
one  and  the  same;  and  this  she  communicated  to  Deacon 
Thompson,  who  thought  there  was  a  resemblance  in  the 
hand-writing,  but  seemed  to  doubt  whether  the  philosopher 
who  had  been  discussing  the  lightning  and  the  storm  with 
him,  could  be  the  young,  sprucely  dressed  man,  that  Lucy 
had  described  the  stranger  to  have  been. 

When  the  wedding  day  arrived,  many  of  the  good 
people  had  assembled,  and  the  stranger  was  anxiously 
expected  ;  but  still  there  was  an  hour  to  elapse  before  the 
time  would  arrive  when  he  had  stipulated  to  be  on  the 
spot.  At  length  he  appeared,  with  his  horse  all  in  a 
foam.  He  had  been  detained  by  some  accident.  As 
soon  as  he  entered  the  house,  a  grave  and  respectable 
man  arose,  and  took  him  by  the  hand.  It  was  the  old 
blacksmith.  The  mutual  recognition  was  instantaneous. 
Jim  also  knew  him,  and  gave  him  a  hearty  shake  by  the 
hand.  The  traveller  now  announced  his  name.  It  had 
been  familiar  to  them  all,  through  the  medium  of  his  con 
nections.  Lucy  had  taught  a  school  in  the  district  where 
his  friends  lived,  and  had  often  heard  his  name  mentioned. 
She  also  came  forward  to  greet  him  with  modesty  and 
feeling.  She  was  indeed  a  lovely  girl,  with  a  fine  blue 
eye,  and  open  countenance,  that  beamed  with  intelligence ; 
and  her  manners  were  frank  and  easy,  the  offspring 
of  great  good  sense,  and  mental  dignity.  She  had 
read  much,  and  her  selections  had  been  excellent.  She 
had  been  extremely  happy  in  improving  her  mind,  and 
witnessing  the  effects  that,  under  Providence,  she  had 


46  THE    BLACKSMITH. 

been  able  to  produce  on  her  family.  She  had  seen  the 
young  man  who  was  about  to  become  her  husband  but  a 
year  or  two  before.  He  had  then,  while  she  was  yet 
quite  youthful,  offered  himself  in  marriage ;  but  she 
declined  his  addresses,  giving  as  a  reason  for  her  refusal, 
that  she  had  not  as  yet  done  enough  for  her  family,  and 
that  she  could  not  think  of  matrimony,  until  she  had  seen 
every  thing  prosperous  with  her  parents.  The  hour  came 
sooner  than  she  could  have  expected.  When  her  parents 
and  her  brothers  were  striving  to  learn  to  read,  they  gave 
up  the  use  of  all  ardent  spirits — were  much  more  industri 
ous  than  they  ever  had  been — laid  up  their  earnings — con 
tracted  for  materials  for  building  a  new  house — and  their 
success  not  only  made  them  appear  better  in  their  own 
estimation,  but  also  in  that  of  their  neighbors.  Instead 
of  idling  away  their  time,  the  boys  rose  with  the  lark,  and 
the  ring  of  the  anvil  was  heard  all  day  long.  One  of  the 
boys  had  been  a  year  with  an  eminent  edge-tool  maker 
in  a  city,  and  had  returned  with  the  character  of  a  first- 
rate  workman.  So  great  was  the  change,  that  from  being 
outcasts  and  by-words,  as  idle,  intemperate,  and  profligate, 
it  had  now  passed  into  a  proverb,  "as  industrious  as  the 
Danforths."  Lucy's  young  lover,  who  had  watched  for 
this  change,  ventured  to  hint  to  her,  that  her  assistance 
was  no  longer  needed.  Doctor  Moore  was  himself  a 
fortunate  man  ; — when  quite  a  boy,  ambitious  to  excel  in 
school,  he  had  attracted  the  notice  of  a  learned  physician 
from  Scotland,  who  had,  after  the  peace  of  1783,  settled 
in  New-England.  The  doctor  saw  that  the  lad  was  very 


THE    BLACKSMITH.  47 

clever  and  good  tempered,  and  took  upon  himself  to  call 
forth  his  talents.  After  graduating  at  Dartmouth  College, 
he  commenced  his  studies  with  his  patron,  and  from  his 
assiduity,  zeal,  and  courteous  demeanor,  became  very 
dear  to  his  aged  instructor.  Having  finished  his  appren 
ticeship,  the  pupil  was  made  a  partner,  and  relieved 
Doctor  Peterson  from  some  of  the  laborious  parts  of  his 
professional  duties.  The  old  physician  had  neither  wife, 
child,  nor  kindred,  in  this  country,  and  of  course  made 
his  pupil  his  heir.  Doctor  Moore  had  obtained  a  full 
practice  when  his  patron  died.  The  estate  was  not  large, 
but  still  a  very  pretty  property  in  the  country.  A  part  of 
it  consisted  of  a  neat  house,  with  a  large,  well  improved 
garden,  in  which  was  collected  all  the  plants  of  the 
country,  and  many  exotics,  which  the  old  gentleman  was 
acclimating.  The  new  possessor  viewed  this  garden  as  a 
noble  monument  of  his  patron's  knowledge  and  taste ; 
but  as  professional  duties  would  not  allow  him  to  give  it 
much  attention,  he  was  anxious  that  whoever  he  should 
marry  should  have  a  taste  for  botany.  Lucy  Danforth 
was  a  botanist  by  natural  feeling  and  assiduous  study,  and 
was  made  a  bride  and  a  priestess  of  Flora  at  the  same 
moment.  She  was  to  take  the  sole  direction  of  the 
garden,  so  beloved  by  her  husband,  as  a  remembrancer  of 
his  patron  and  friend.  Under  her  care,  the 
"  Flowers  a  new  returning  season  bring," 
and  attract  the  attention  of  every  traveller  that  passes. 

After  the  marriage  ceremony  had  been  performed,  and 
friends  had  indulged  in  the  playful  sallies  of  merriment 


48  THE    BLACKSMITH. 

common  on  such  occasions,  the  old  people  prepared  to 
depart.  Mr.  Danforth  senior,  (for  he  was  no  longer 
called  "Old  Danforth,"  but  sometimes  "Squire  Dan- 
forth,"  as  that  very  year  he  was  chosen  one  of  the  select 
men  of  the  town,)  stepped  up  to  the  traveller,  and  with  a 
look  and  tone  of  affection  and  hospitality,  invited  him  to 
spend  the  night  with  him,  as  it  was  now  growing  late  in 
the  evening.  The  invitation  was  accepted;  and,  on 
entering  the  new  house,  he  found  every  thing  plain,  neat, 
and  substantial.  The  supper  table  was  spread  with  a 
profusion  of  good  things ; — the  cakes  and  butter  were 
excellent,  but  the  trout  were  most  to  the  taste  of  the 
guest.  After  talking  an  hour  or  more,  Mr.  Danforth 
inquired  of  his  guest  if  he  would  attend  family  prayer 
with  him,  which  being  readily  assented  to,  a  large  Bible 
was  placed  on  the  table,  and  the  father  of  the  family  read 
a  chapter,  in  a  clear,  forcible,  and  correct  manner  ; — his 
emphasis  was  judicious,  for  he  understood  what  he  was 
reading.  He  then  arose,  and  leaning  over  his  chair, 
began  in  a  mild  and  subdued  tone,  an  extempore  prayer, 
in  which  he  recounted  all  the  wonders  God  had  done  for 
himself  and  family,  and  poured  out  his  whole  soul  in 
gratitude  to  him  for  his  abundant  mercies.  The  daughter 
was  not  forgotten  ;  for  her  and  her  husband  a  blessing 
was  invoked,  and  the  guest  shared  the  good  man's  benison. 
The  allusion  to  his  instrumentality  in  their  reform  was 
touched  with  the  delicacy  and  power  of  a  master.  The 
whole  scene  was  solemn  and  affecting.  What  a  change 
had  come  over  this  house  !  He  who  was  now  a  patriarch, 


THE    BLACKSMITH.  49 

praising  God — rising  in  moral  majesty  in  the  traveller's 
view  at  every  sentence  he  uttered — had  stood  in  his 
presence,  only  six  years  before,  his  eyes  bloodshot  with 
intemperance,  his  throat  choked  with  profanity,  and  his 
lips  parched  with  blasphemies.  Without  any  cant,  the 
traveller  called  this  a  refreshing  hour; — he  had  been  bred 
among  the  learned,  was  familiar  with  the  great,  and  had 
witnessed  the  highest  efforts  of  mighty  mind — but  he  has 
often  been  heard  to  declare,  that  the  blacksmith's  prayer 
had  more  influence  on  his  affections,  hopes,  and  faith, 
than  all  the  eloquence  he  had  ever  heard,  in  temples 
of  justice,  halls  of  legislation,  or  from  the  sacred  desk ; — 
and  he  has  adopted  it  as  a  maxim  ever  since,  that 
on  literature,  well  directed,  mainly  rests  the  happiness 
of  man  here  and  hereafter. 


5* 


ACLL  AHU  A. 


The  ancient  Peruvian  oracles  foretold  the  advent  of  a  Liberator, 
who  would  break  the  iron  hand  of  Spanish  oppression ;  scatter  the 
darkness  of  superstition  before  the  light  of  reason,  and  plant  the  tree 
of  LIBERTY  on  both  sides  of  the  Andes ;  and  that  he  would  fall  before 
the  great  work  of  political  redemption  was  finished,  by  the  poisonous 
tooth  of  a  serpent.  The  poison  that  curdled  the  thin  and  wholesome 
blood  of  the  mighty  warrior,  the  sage  lawgiver,  and  disinterested 
patriot,  was  the  ingratitude  of  his  countrymen. 

Laurentius'  Eulogy  on  Bolivar. 

THERE  are  some  spots  on  the  earth  more  beautiful  than 
others,  in  which  nature  shows  her  power  over  the  moun 
tain,  the  vale,  the  wild  wood  and  the  water-fall.  On 
these  we  love  to  linger  and  mark  the  lights  and  shadows 
of  the  landscape  as  they  change  with  the  course  of  the 
sun ;  so  in  the  history  of  man,  there  are  romantic  inci 
dents  that  are  constant  themes  of  admiration  to  each 
succeeding  generation.  Among  these  is  the  history  of 
the  Incas  of  Peru,  who  called  themselves  the  children  of 
the  sun.  The  first  of  the  Incas  was  Mango  Capac ;  and 
his  wife  was  Coya  Mama.  It  is  now  well  settled  that  they 
were  Mongels,  who,  as  they  were  sent  from  China  to  attack 
the  Japanese  with  large  ships  carrying  elephants  to  assist 
them  in  battle,  were  blown  off,  and  after  a  long  voyage 
landed  in  South  America.  There  can  be  no  question  but 
that  the  Peruvians  and  the  Mexicans  were  originally  of 
the  same  race.  They  had  the  same  customs,  laws,  manners, 
and  habits,  both  in  war  and  in  peace.  Mango  Capac  and 


52  ACLLAHUA. 

his  few  followers  arrived  at  that  part  of  the  continent  now 
called  Peru.  These  strangers,  the  children  of  the  sun, 
taught  the  Indians  the  arts  of  civil  life,  and  to  cultivate  the 
ground  with  wheat  and  maize.  Coya  Mama  instructed 
the  females  in  spinning  cotton  and  wool.  The  Incas  did 
not  disclose  to  the  Indians  whence  they  came,  or  what 
was  their  true  origin.  Their  first  appearance  was  proba 
bly  about  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century.  The 
circle  of  their  influence  was  continued  from  age  to  age 
for  nearly  three  centuries  j  first,  by  conquest,  and  then  by 
the  wisdom  of  their  institutions.  The  Peruvians  were 
originally  small,  independent  tribes,  like  the  other  aborigi 
nes  of  that  country ;  rude  in  their  policy,  but  more 
inoffensive  and  mild  than  those  of  North  America.  They 
were  in  the  state  of  nature,  when,  as  their  traditions 
inform  us,  a  man  and  woman,  dressed  in  elegant  garments, 
made  their  appearance  on  the  banks  of  the  lake  Titiaca. 
They  told  the  Indians  that  they  were  sent  by  the  sun, 
their  father,  and  the  moon  their  mother,  to  bring  them 
from  savage  lives,  and  to  teach  them  to  worship  the  sun, 
and  to  make  them  good  and  happy.  Mango  bore  in  his 
hand  a  rod  of  gold ; — he  said  that  his  father  told  him 
wherever  he  stopped  to  strike  the  rod  into  the  ground, 
and  where  it  should  at  the  first  stroke  go  down  to 
the  top,  on  that  spot  he  should  build  a  temple  to 
the  sun,  and  fix  the  seat  of  his  government.  This 
happened  in  the  vale  of  Cuzo,  where  he  founded  a 
city  as  the  capital  of  his  kingdom.  Here  he  began 
the  primitive  arts  of  civilization,  by  dividing  the  people 


ACLLAHUA.  53 

into  small  families,  and  by  putting  rulers  over  them, 
and  superintended  them  himself.  The  most  beautiful 
upland  cotton  grew  spontaneously  around  them,  and  the 
use  of  it,  under  the  instruction  of  Coya  Mama,  soon 
became  common.  The  females,  who  before  wandered 
almost  in  a  state  of  nudity,  now  wore  flowing  robes  of 
shining  whiteness,  or  those  dyed  by  coloring  vegetables  or 
by  insects  which  grew  or  swarmed  around  them.  Belong 
ing  to  a  warlike  race,  himself  a  warrior,  he,  by  degrees, 
organized  an  army  powerful  enough  to  carry  his  con 
quests  as  far  as  he  wished.  After  a  long  reign,  Mango 
Capac  died  beloved  by  his  subjects  as  a  father,  and  was 
adored  by  them  as  a  demigod,  when  dead.  The  next 
Inca  was  Sinchi  Roca.  He,  like  the  Roman  Numa,  was 
brave  and  powerful,  but  preferred  the  arts  of  peace 
to  those  of  war.  He  extended  the  olive-branch  with  such 
kindness  and  persuasion,  that  he  never  was  under  the 
necessity  of  using  his  arms,  which  were  always  in  readi 
ness.  He  understood  the  maxim — to  keep  peace,  a  nation 
should  be  prepared  for  war. 

LOQUI  YUPANQUI  was  the  first  who  made  use  of  arms 
against  the  natives.  He  added  new  provinces  to  the 
empire,  and  spent  his  time  and  treasures  in  the  internal 
improvements,  in  the  provinces  he  had  conquered, — ma 
king  canals,  roads  and  public  buildings;  but  his  great 
labor  was  erecting  a  temple  of  the  sun,  and  a  house 
of  consecrated  virgins  therein.  This  inner  temple  for 
the  vestal  virgin  was  called  ACLLAHUA. 

MAYTA   CAPAC  added  the  province  of  Collao  to  his 


54  ACLLAHUA. 

empire.  The  inhabitants  made  no  resistance.  The  fame 
of  the  Incas  had  reached  them,  and  they  were  happy  to  \ 
accept  him  as  their  sovereign.  His  next  campaign  was 
in  the  end  successful  after  much  exertion.  Then  success 
followed  success  until  many  provinces  were  added  to  his 
dominions.  He  died  at  Cuzo  full  of  prosperity  and 
glory.  He  examined  the  regions  of  the  mountains  more 
accurately  than  any  of  his  predecessors.  He  was  a 
warrior  and  a  philosopher. 

CAPAC  YUPONQUI  had  a  prosperous  reign,  and  by  his 
decision  of  character  settled  many  disputes  between  the 
tribes,  which  are  so  common  among  aboriginals. 

INCA  ROCA  was  a  philosopher  and  a  moralist.  He 
erected  schools  for  the  education  of  the  princes.  His 
maxims  are  often  repeated  at  this  hour  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Peru.  One  of  them  that  has  reached  us  has  all  the 
sentimental  sweetness  of  the  moral  aphorisms  of  the  son 
of  David,  who  ruled  so  gloriously  over  the  Israelites.  "  If 
there  be  any  thing  in  this  lower  world  which  we  might 
adore,  it  is  a  wise  and  virtuous  man,  who  surpasses  all 
other  objects  in  dignity ;  but  how  can  we  pay  divine 
honors  to  one  who  is  born  in  tears,  who  is  in  a  daily  state 
of  change,  who  arrived  but  as  yesterday,  and  who  is 
not  exempt  from  death,  perhaps  to-morrow."  It  will  be 
for  ever  true,  that  the  inevitable  fate  of  the  human  race 
"  to  die  and  go  we  know  not  where,"  sinks  deep  upon  the 
heart,  and  its  effects  are  seen  in  all  its  outpourings." 

YAHUA  HUACAC,  so  named  from  having  wept  tears 
of  blood  in  his  infancy,  and  which  were  deemed  a  presage 


ACLLAHUA.  55 

of  his  early  misfortunes.  He  was  imbecile  and  unfortu 
nate;  and  after  having  sent  his  son  into  exile,  was 
deposed  by  him,  without  any  sympathy  from  his  people. 

VIRA  COCHA  was  a  bold,  enterprising  chief.  He 
caused  gardens,  fish  ponds,  and  parks  to  be  made — 
collected  all  the  rare  animals  for  his  menagerie.  His 
greatest  work  was  an  aqueduct,  which  he  caused  to 
be  made,  three  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  length,  and 
twelve  feet  deep,  to  convey  the  famous  mountain  springs, 
which  are  between  Porcu  and  Picuy,  to  Rucana,  for  the 
purpose  of  watering  the  pastures,  which  are  about  fifty 
miles  broad,  but  extend  nearly  the  length  of  Peru.  Vira 
Cocha  extended  his  conquests  on  the  east  to  the  Andes, 
on  the  west  to  the  sea,  and  on  the  south  to  the  desert 
of  Chili ;  on  the  north,  all  the  rebels  submitted.  This  is 
an  immense  extent  of  country.  His  reign  was  long  and 
glorious. 

PACHA  CUTEC  succeeded  Vira  Cocha,  and  was  both  a 
warrior  and  a  philosopher.  He  extended  the  conquests 
his  father  began,  and  founded  schools  and  erected  palaces 
and  temples.  He  also  made  maxims  for  the  guide  of  his 
people  ; — some  of  them  are  finely  magnanimous,  others 
severe  upon  pretenders. 

"A  noble  and  generous  heart  is  known  by  the 
patience  with  which  it  supports  misfortune,"  is  one  of 
them.  Another  is,  "  How  ridiculous  is  he,  who  is  not 
able  to  count  by  quipois,  (a  simple  mode  of  calculating 
by  strings  of  different  colors  and  knots,)  and  yet  pretends 
to  number  the  stars." 


56  ACLLAHUA. 

YUPANQUI  was  the  son  of  Pacha  Cutec.  He  was 
a  warlike  prince,  but  revered  for  his  kindness  and 
clemency,  was  surnamed  "  The  Charitable." 

TUPA  YUPANQUI  passed  a  year  in  the  ceremonies 
observed  on  the  death  of  his  father,  and  then  made 
a  journey  through  his  dominions  to  see  that  the  laws 
were  obeyed,  which  employed  four  years.  He  then  raised 
a  large  army,  and  performed  prodigies  of  valor  in  con 
quering  the  Cascayunca  and  Huancompa,  the  worst  of 
cannibals.  He  built  fortresses,  temples  and  houses  for 
the  virgins.  He  governed  his  empire  with  wisdom  and 
mildness.  His  people  called  him  Tupac  Yaya,  or 
Resplendent  Father.  He  also  left  maxims  for  his 
people. 

HUAYNA  CAPAC,  son  of  the  above,  after  the  usual 
term  of  mourning  had  expired,  commenced  a  tour  through 
his  dominions ;  and  was  every  where  received  with  trium 
phal  arches  and  ways  strewed  with  flowers.  The  emperor, 
wishing  to  signalize  the  day  on  which  his  first-born  was 
to  receive  his  name,  invented  the  famous  golden  chain, 
seven  hundred  feet  in  length,  and  the  links  about  eight 
inches  in  circumference.  It  was  finished  in  two  years, 
and  used  in  the  great  fete  given  in  honor  of  the  occasion. 
All  the  great  personages  of  his  court  held  this  chain 
instead  of  taking  each  other  by  the  hand,  as  formerly  on 
such  festivals.  This  chain  has  never  been  found,  having 
been  secreted  on  the  arrival  of  the  Spaniards.  Curiosity 
and  avarice  have  made  diligent  search  for  it  for  ages. 
He  embellished  Quito  with  imperial  munificence.  At 


ACLLAHUA.  57 


Tumbez  he  erected  a  fine  fortress,  a  temple  of  the  sun, 
and  a  house  for  the  chosen  virgins.  The  Peruvians  had 
at  this  time,  as  the  Athenians  in  the  days  of  the  apostle 
Paul,  a  temple  to  the  "  Unknown  God" — and  also  oracles 
like  those  of  Delphi.  The  adventures  of  the  emperor 
with  cacique  Tumpulli — tyrant  of  the  fertile  Islands  of 
Puna — is  full  of  romantic  history,  of  deception  on  one 
side,  and  vengeance  on  the  other.  The  emperor  became 
master  of  Puna.  Atahualpa  was  the  son  of  Huayna 
Capac,  by  the  daughter  of  the  king  of  Quito.  He  was 
remarkable  for  his  fine  person,  his  bravery,  and  his  good 
sense,  and  was  the  idol  of  his  father.  He  wished  him  to 
be  sole  emperor,  but  this  could  not  be  fairly  effected,  as 
Huasca  Inca  was  the  legitimate  heir  ;  but  the  father 
managed  matters  with  them  to  divide  the  empire,  showing 
the  greatest  friendship  for  Atahualpa.  In  the  latter  part 
of  Huayna  Capac's  days,  the  Spaniards  made  their 
appearance  in  Peru,  in  a  vessel  of  uncommon  size,  and 
were  making  inquiries  about  the  country.  The  emperor 
was  alarmed :  the  ancient  oracles  had  foretold  the  coming 
of  these  strangers;  and  three  years  before  this  event, 
during  the  celebration  of  the  feast  of  the  sun  at  Cuzo,  a 
large  eagle  had  been  pursued  and  harassed  by  five  or  six 
small  falcons  and  as  many  water-fowls,  until  they  tore  and 
disabled  him  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  fell  as  if  for 
succor,  in  the  great  square  in  the  midst  of  the  Incas. 
They  endeavored  to  nourish  the  eagle,  but  he  died  in  a 
few  days.  The  auguries  declared  unanimously,  that  was 
a  presage  of  the  ruin  of  the  state,  and  the  extinction 


58  ACLLAHUA. 

of  their  religion.  This  prodigy  was  succeeded  by  earth 
quakes,  which  threw  down  high  mountains ;  the  sea  left 
its  ordinary  bounds,  and  frightful  comets  appeared. 
A  layco,  or  magician,  one  day  ran  to  the  emperor  in  tears, 
and  so  out  of  breath  that  he  could  hardly  speak,  to  assure 
him  that  his  mother,  the  moon,  was  surrounded  by  three 
circles,  one  of  which  was  of  the  color  of  blood,  the  second 
of  dark  green,  and  the  outward  one  appeared  like  smoke; 
and  to  explain  to  him,  that  Pachacamoc,  by  these  signs, 
indicated  the  extirpation  of  the  royal  family,  and  the  ruin 
of  the  whole  empire.  The  emperor  was  not  insensible  to 
these  omens,  but  was  too  wise  and  brave  to  show  a  want 
of  fortitude  on  the  occasion.  He  ordered  the  soothsayers 
in  all  the  provinces  to  consult  the  oracle  of  Rimac, 
regarding  the  interpretations  of  these  commotions  of  the 
elements.  Their  replies,  as  might  be  expected,  knowing 
his  fears,  were  ambiguous.  Other  omens  foretold  the 
emperor  of  his  fate.  He  ordered  his  friends  to  make  his 
favorite  son,  Atahualpa,  their  most  sacred  care. 

HUASCA  INCA  was  emperor  over  the  hereditary  do 
minions  of  the  Incas,  while  Atahualpa  reigned  in  Quito. 
Huasca  was  prevented  from  making  conquests  on  the 
north  by  his  brother — and  became  restless  and  jealous  of 
him,  and  required  that  Atahualpa  should  render  him 
homage — and  demanded  that  he  should  not  add  an  inch 
to  his  kingdom  by  any  future  conquests.  This  resulted 
in  a  feigned,  reconciliation,  and,  by  the  bitter  jealousy 
of  the  emperor  of  Quito,  into  an  overthrow  of  Huasca 
and  his  authority.  The  whole  race  of  the  Incas  was 


ACLLAHUA.  59 

nearly  extirpated  by  Atahualpa,  and  not  only  them,  but 
most  of  the  great  men  of  the  nation.  After  keeping 
Huasca  for  a  while  in  order  that  he  might  allay  any 
revolt,  by  offering  to  restore  their  emperor,  at  length  the 
atrocious  Atahualpa  inhumanly  murdered  Huasca  with 
many  of  his  dearest  friends. 

The  time  was  now  at  hand  when  Atahualpa  was  to 
suffer  in  his  turn.  In  the  year  1526,  Pizarro  landed 
at  Tumbez  ;  and  the  Spaniards  for  the  first  time  feasted 
their  eyes  with  the  fine  temples;  the  gold,  silver,  and  all 
the  opulence  and  civilization  of  the  Peruvians.  They 
were  astonished  to  find  such  a  race  of  men.  Pizarro, 
however,  did  not  commence  the  conquest  of  Peru  at  this 
time,  but  returning,  he  invaded  the  country  in  February, 
1531.  He  landed  in  the  bay  of  St.  Matthews  with  a 
hundred  and  forty-four  infantry,  and  thirty-six  cavalry,  and 
was  reinforced  with  about  an  hundred  and  twenty  under 
Benalcazar  and  Soto.  •  At  this  moment  the  civil  wars 
were  raging  between  Huasca  and  Atahualpa. 

Pizarro  took  advantage  of  this  state  of  affairs.  Post 
ing  himself  securely  in  the  temple  of  Caxamulca,  he  sent 
his  brother  Ferdinand,  and  Hernand  Soto  to  the  camp  of 
Atahualpa,  who  received  them  with  cordiality.  The 
Spaniards  were  astonished  at  the  reverence  paid  to  the 
emperor,  and  at  the  order  as  well  as  splendor  of  the 
court.  Pizarro  invited  the  Inca  to  pay  him  a  visit ;  he 
accepted,  and  arrived  sitting  on  a  throne,  attended  with 
more  than  eastern  magnificence,  in  singers,  dancers,  and 
every  insignia  of  royal  splendor.  Father  Vincent  Val- 


60  ACLLAHUA. 

verde,  a  bigot  of  the  church,  advanced  with  a  crucifix  and 
a  breviary.  He  explained  the  Christian  doctrines — and 
stated  that  the  Pope  had  made  a  donation  of  the  new 
world  to  the  king  of  Castile — and  required  Atahualpa  to 
embrace  the  new  faith  and  submit  to  the  king.  This 
was  all  incomprehensible  to  the  Inca,  who  was  indignant ; 
he  asked  where  these  things  had  been  learned?  "In 
this  book"  said  Valverde.  The  Inca  opened  the  volume 
and  put  it  to  his  ear.  "It  is  silent,"  said  he,  "  it  tells  me 
no  such  thing,"  and  threw  it  with  disdain  to  the  ground. 
The  enraged  monk  ran  to  his  companions  and  cried, — 
"  To  arms,  to  arms,  Christians !  your  religion  has  been 
insulted  ;  avenge  it  on  these  impious  dogs."  The  martial 
music  struck  up ;  the  cannon  begun  to  roar  ;  the  muskets 
were  fired  in  tremendous  vollies ;  the  horse  sallied  out  to 
the  charge,  and  the  work  of  death  was  carried  on  in 
earnest.  Pizarro  seized  the  Inca  by  the  throat,  and 
dragged  him  to  the  ground.  Tine  carnage  did  not  cease 
until  the  close  of  the  day.  Four  thousand  Peruvians 
were  butchered,  but  not  a  Spaniard  was  killed.  The 
plunder  was  immense.  Pizarro  offered  to  give  liberty  to 
the  Inca  for  a  ransom  of  so  much  gold  as  would  fill 
a  room  twenty-five  feet  long,  and  fifteen  wide,  and  as  high 
as  a  line  Soto  scratched  on  the  wall  with  his  sword. 
This  was  done  in  two  months  and  a  half,  but  did  not  save 
the  life  of  Atahualpa ;  he  was  forced  to  go  through  a 
mock  trial,  and  was  condemned  to  be  burnt,  and  on 
a  promise  of  mitigation  of  his  sentence,  if  he  would 
embrace  the  Christian  religion,  he  consented :  and 


ACLLAHUA.  61 

instead  of  being  consumed  in  the  flames,  was  strangled  at 
the  stake.  This  was  in  1533.  All  the  impious  and  cruel 
wretches  who  planned  this  accursed  deed,  died  an  unna 
tural  death.  A  son  of  Atahualpa  was  mocked  with  the 
investment  of  royalty,  and  Mango  Capac,  a  brother  of 
Huasca,  who  had  been  put  to  death  by  Atahualpa,  was 
Inca  of  Cuzo  ;  but  after  making  an  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  regain  Cuzo,  he  retired  to  the  mountains. 

"  Manco  Capac,  after  his  unsuccessful  attempt  to  regain 
his  empire,  retired  into  the  mountains  of  Villca  Pampa, 
and  lived  there  in  voluntary  exile  until  his  death.  This 
event  was  accomplished  by  one  of  those  unhappy  accidents, 
which  now  seemed  destined  to  pursue  the  race.  A  num 
ber  of  Spaniards,  who  were  imprisoned  at  Cusco  for  their 
participation  in  some  of  the  civil  broils  which  divided  the 
first  conquerors,  escaped  from  confinement,  and  sought 
refuge  with  the  Inca  among  the  mountains.  Manco  Ca 
pac  received  and  entertained  them  with  much  cordiality: 
and  through  them  a  negociation  was  set  on  foot  for  per 
suading  the  Inca  to  quit  the  mountains,  and  live  on  friend 
ly  terms  with  the  viceroy ;  and  a  pardon  was  to  be  the 
recompense  of  their  success.  The  Spaniards,  emboldened 
by  these  means,  were  accustomed  to  play  at  balls  with  the 
Inca  very  frequently ;  and  one  of  them,  Gomez  Perez  by 
name,  even  ventured  to  treat  the  Inca  with  insupportable 
insolence.  On  a  certain  occasion  of  this  kind,  Manco 
Capac  was  so  much  offended  as  to  reprove  Perez,  and 
strike  him  a  slight  blow  in  the  side;  whereupon  Perez 

flew  into  a  violent  passion,  and  making  at  the  Inca,  felled 
6* 


62  ACLLAHUA. 

him  to  the  ground  with  the  ball  in  his  hand.  The  In- 
dians,  who  witnessed  the  scene,  enraged  at  the  murder  of 
their  prince,  instantly  attacked  the  Spaniards,  overwhelm 
ed  them  with  a  shower  of  arrows,  and  exposed  their  bodies 
to  be  devoured  by  vultures  and  by  beasts  of  prey. 

"  Manco  Capac  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Sayri  Tupac, 
who  continued  in  the  mountains  of  Villca  Pampa,  until  he 
was  induced  by  the  viceroy,  Don  Andreas  Hurtado  de 
Mendoza,  marquis  of  Canete,  to  leave  them,  and  reside 
among  the  Spaniards.  This  object  was  effected  by  means 
of  the  Coyas,  or  Children  of  the  Sun,  who  had  been  mar- 
ried  to  the  conquerors,  and  of  course  felt  a  double  interest, 
in  the  Peruvians  by  birth,  and  in  the  Spaniards  by  alli 
ance.  Mendoza  was  accounted  very  fortunate  in  having 
accomplished  this  without  any  bloodshed ;  because  so  long 
as  the  Inca  lived  among  the  Spaniards,  he  was  wholly 
within  their  power,  and  they  were  freed  from  all  apprehen 
sion  of  his  attempting  to  regain  the  empire.  He  accepted 
a  grant  of  lands,  and  a  yearly  stipend  from  the  viceroy, 
for  his  support ;  and  after  being  baptized  and  banquetted 
at  Cusco  by  both  nations,  he  retired  to  Yucay,  where  he 
lived  in  obscurity,  and  died  a  natural  death. 

"  Sayri  Tupac  left  no  son,  and  his  dignity  devolved  upon 
his  brother,  Tupac  Amaru.  His  estate,  however,  de 
scended  to  his  daughter,  who  was  afterwards  married,  on 
account  of  her  possessions,  to  Don  Martin  Garcia  de  Lo 
yola,  a  Spaniard  who  acquired  distinction  by  his  success 
in  seizing  upon  the  person  of  Tupac  Amaru.  This  hap 
pened  under  the  government  of  Don  Francisco  de  Toledo, 


ACLLAHUA.  63 

appointed  viceroy  in  1569,  who  sullied  an  eminently  hap 
py  administration,  by  his  cruelty  towards  the  Incas  and  the 
rest  of  the  Peruvians.  Tupac  Amaru,  it  seems,  began  his 
reign,  like  his  predecessor,  in  the  mountains  of  Villca 
Pampa.  But  Toledo,  recollecting  the  credit  and  security 
which  Mendoza  acquired  by  the  conversion  of  Sayri  Tu 
pac,  soon  resolved  to  draw  Tupac  Amaru  from  the  moun 
tains,  either  by  negociation  or  by  violence.  Tupac  Ama 
ru  was  deaf  to  all  solicitation.  He  scorned  the  paltry  sti 
pend,  which  was  doled  out  to  his  brother  from  the  spoils 
of  his  own  empire.  He  preferred  independence  and  a  life 
of  hardship  in  the  wilds  of  the  Andes,  to  luxury  and  dis 
honor  at  Cusco  or  Yucay.  Toledo,  therefore,  commis 
sioned  Don  Martin  Garcia  de  Loyola  to  follow  the  Inca 
into  the  mountains,  and  to  bring  him  thence  by  force. 
Tupac  Amaru  fled  before  him  at  first,  but  at  length  de 
sisted,  and  suffered  himself,  with  all  the  members  of  his 
household,  to  be  conducted  in  triumph  to  Cusco. 

"  Little  could  he  anticipate  the  scene  which  there  await 
ed  him,  and  the  sufferings  of  which  a  relentless  state  policy 
\vas  to  make  him  the  victim.  No  sooner  had  he  reached 
Cusco,  than  a  special  commission  was  appointed  for  his 
trial,  and  measures  were  vigorously  undertaken  to  annihi 
late  the  royal  family  of  Peru.  The  Inca  was  accused  of 
employing  his  vassals  to  sally  from  the  mountains  and  rob 
the  Spaniards ;  and  of  conspiring  with  his  relations  of  the 
mixed  blood,  (the  mestizos,)  to  rise  in  a  mass,  by  concert, 
and  massacre  all  the  Europeans.  This  accusation  involved 
in  ruin  a  numerous  body  of  men  of  the  best  Spanish  Ameri- 


64  ACLLAHUA. 

can  families  in  Peru.  The  conquerors  had  frequently 
married  the  daughters  of  Peruvian  caciques  and  females 
of  the  blood  of  the  Incas,  in  order  to  disguise,  under  more 
plausible  pretexts,  the  plunder  of  the  lands  and  vassals  of 
native  princes.  The  fruit  of  these  marriages  inherited  the 
rank  and  pride  of  their  fathers,  with  the  Indian  blood  of 
their  mothers.  All  of  these,  who  were  capable  of  bearing 
arms,  the  viceroy  seized  and  imprisoned,  and  at  first  des 
tined  to  death ;  but  the  fear  of  insurrection  induced  him  to 
mitigate  the  sentence,  and  to  banish  them,  some  to  various 
parts  of  the  New  World,  and  some  to  Spain. 

"  The  fate  of  the  Peruvians  of  the  royal  family  was  still 
more  deplorable.  All  the  males,  to  the  number  of  thirty- 
eight,  including  the  two  sons  of  Tupac  Amaru,  were  ex 
iled  to  Lima,  and  forbidden  to  quit  the  city.  It  is  known 
that  the  warm  and  humid  air  of  Lima,  and  of  the  plains, 
is  often  destructive  to  constitutions  habituated  to  the  dry 
and  bracing  air  of  the  mountains ;  and  in  less  than  two 
years,  thirty-five  of  these  youthful  exiles,  what  with  grief 
at  the  misfortunes  of  the  race,  and  affliction  at  their  sepa 
ration  from  their  friends,  and  what  with  the  deleterious 
climate  of  Los  Reyes,  all  sickened  and  died ;  and  the  re 
maining  three  did  not  long  survive  their  fellow-sufferers. 
Thus  by  cruel  murder  perished  the  males  of  the  blood 
royal  of  Peru. 

"  Tupac  Amaru  himself,  the  head  of  the  family,  and  the 
acknowledged  emperor,  was  condemned  to  be  publicly  de 
capitated  in  the  sight  of  the  whole  Peruvian  nation.  When 
the  Inca  was  notified  of  his  sentence,  he  strenuously  pro- 


ACLLAHUA.  65 

tested  against  its  cruelty  and  injustice.  He  urged,  that 
the  impossibility  of  his  procuring  any  benefit  by  rebellion 
was  conclusive  refutation  of  the  charge  that  he  was  guilty 
of  plotting  it.  How  should  he  imagine  that  he,  with  a 
handful  of  vassals,  could  overturn  the  Spanish  power  now 
that  it  was  firmly  established,  when  his  father,  Manco  Ca- 
pac  had  failed  to  do  it  with  a  host  of  two  hundred  thou 
sand  men  of  war  against  two  hundred  Spaniards?  Be 
sides,  if  he  had  been  contemplating  an  insurrection,  would 
he  have  surrendered  himself  voluntarily  to  Loyola?  He 
concluded  with  the  strongest  asseverations  of  his  inno 
cence  ;  and  appealing  from  Toledo  to  his  master,  he  de 
manded  to  be  sent  to  Spain,  to  hear  his  sentence  from 
Philip  himself,  confiding  that  he  should  receive  kingly 
treatment  at  the  hands  of  a  king. 

"  But  the  viceroy  was  inexorable.  His  mind  was  fully 
made  up  that  the  Inca  should  die.  It  is  probable  that  he 
was  actuated  by  motives  of  devoted  attachment  to  his  coun 
try,  and  fixed  determination  that  the  stability  of  her  vast 
possessions  in  America  should  be  secured  at  all  hazards. 
And  his  elevated  character  would  seem  to  countenance  the 
idea ;  for  he  was  confessedly  one  of  the  purest  and  ablest 
of  the  Spanish  viceroys ;  and  it  is  impossible  to  conceive 
of  any  thing  else  of  sufficient  weight  to  cause  him  to  per 
severe  against  so  much  public  odium,  and  so  many  obsta 
cles  of  various  kinds,  which  opposed  his  design.  He  was 
unwilling  even,  it  would  appear,  to  trust  to  the  mercy  of 
his  master,  Philip  II.,  a  man  who  was  not  liable  to  be  de 
terred  from  the  pursuit  of  his  interest  by  scruples  of  the 


66  ACLLAHUA. 

nicest  character.  And  learning  that  the  principal  Spa 
niards  in  the  country  were  coming  to  supplicate  him  to  com 
mute  the  punishment  of  death  for  exile  or  imprisonment, 
he  surrounded  his  house  'with  guards,  and  peremptorily 
refused  admission  to  the  applicants. 

"  In  the  mean  time  the  preparations  for  the  immediate 
execution  of  the  Inca  were  actively  hastened.  A  scaffold 
was  erected  in  the  large  public  square  of  Cusco,  it  being 
the  purpose  of  the  viceroy  to  intimidate  the  whole  Peru 
vian  people,  by  the  most  studied  degradation  of  the  repre 
sentative  of  the  sun.  On  the  day  appointed  for  the  exe 
cution,  the  Inca  was  led  forth  on  a  mule,  with  his  hands 
pinioned,  a  halter  around  his  neck,  and  the  crier  going 
before  him  proclaiming  his  approaching  death,  and  the  im 
puted  cause  of  it.  While  moving  to  the  square,  the  pro 
cession  was  met  by  a  numerous  band  of  Peruvian  women, 
exclaiming  with  passionate  cries  and  loud  lamentations 
against  the  conduct  of  Toledo,  and  demanding  that  they 
might  be  slaughtered  in  the  company  of  their  prince,  ra 
ther  than  to  remain  alive  to  be  the  slaves  of  his  murderer. 
Never,  indeed,  upon  whatever  occasion,  was  a  movement 
of  popular  grief  communicated  through  a  greater  mass  of 
indignant  and  agonized  beings.  Entering  the  square, 
where  the  scaffold  stood,  the  eye  gazed  upon  three  hun 
dred  thousand  souls,  assembled  to  witness  the  last  mourn 
ful  hour  of  him  who  was  the  object  of  profound  veneration 
to  all,  as  the  heir  of  their  ancient  sovereigns,  and  the  de 
scendant,  not  of  a  long  line  of  kings  only,  but  of  the  very 
gods  themselves  whom  the  nation  worshipped.  In  his 


ACLLAHUA.  67 

death  they  were  to  behold,  not  merely  the  prostration  of 
the  Incas,  but  the  finishing  stroke  given  to  the  glorious 
empire  of  the  Sun,  and  the  sceptre  of  Peru  passed  into 
hands  of  a  foreign  race,  the  despisers  of  the  religion  of  the 
land,  the  usurpers  of  its  dominion,  and  the  tyrannical  op 
pressors  of  its  inhabitants.  They  seemed  invited,  as  it 
were,  to  attest  the  act  of  finally  setting  the  seal  to  their 
own  perpetual  servitude.  The  idea  roused  them  to  shouts 
of  vengeance.  As  the  Inca  ascended  the  fatal  stage,  and 
stood  environed  by  the  priests  in  their  sacerdotal  vestments, 
and  near  him  the  hateful  executioner,  with  his  drawn 
sword  displayed,  their  excitement  and  indignation  broke 
all  bounds,  and  but  for  an  incident  as  remarkable  as  it 
was  timeous,  the  Peruvians  might  even  then,  in  the  extre 
mity  of  their  just  rage,  have  fallen  upon  the  Spaniards,  and 
crushed  them  beneath  the  mere  weight  of  the  eager  thou 
sands,  who  seemed  ready  to  rush  upon  death  to  rescue 
their  adored  Inca.  But  just  when  the  elements  of  discord 
were  on  the  point  of  being  wrought  up  to  fury,  the  Inca 
raised  his  right  hand  till  the  open  palm  was  on  a  line  with 
his  right  ear,  and  then  slowly  depressed  it  down  to  his 
right  thigh.  At  this  familiar  signal  of  silence,  instantly, 
as  if  the  angel  of  destruction  had  swept  over  the  assembled 
crowds,  the  noisy  and  tumultuous  multitude  sunk  into  still 
ness  the  most  profound,  and  not  less  appalling  than  its  pre 
vious  commotion.  The  Spaniards  were  struck  with  amaze 
ment  at  the  scene,  which  manifested  so  clearly  the  extra 
ordinary  authority  still  exercised  by  the  Inca  over  the 
minds  of  the  Peruvians ;  and  justified  in  some  degree  the 


OS  ACLLAHUA. 

policy  of  Toledo.     The  execution  now  proceeded  tran* 
quilly  to  its  conclusion,  and  the  Inca  met  his  end  with  that  ' 
unshrinking  fortitude,  dignity,  and  contempt  of  death, 
which  have  universally  marked  the  Indian  in  the  last  strug 
gles  of  dissolving  nature. 

"  Thus  terminated  the  direct  male  lineage  of  the  Chil 
dren  of  the  Sun.  Don  Jose  Gabriel  Candor  Canqui,  the 
individual  who  revolutionized  the  Peruvians  in  1781,  and 
filled  the  provinces  of  Upper  Peru  with  bloodshed  by  his 
noble  and  daring,  but  unfortunate,  attempt  to  restore  the 
empire  of  the  native  princes,  was,  it  is  believed,  a  collate- 
ral  descendant  of  the  Inca  Tupac  Amaru,  whose  name  he 
assumed  to  awaken  the  historical  sympathies  of  the  Peru 
vians.  The  marquisate  of  Oropesa,  which  Candor  Can- 
qui  claimed,  was  originally  erected  by  the  king  of  Spain 
in  favor  of  the  daughter  of  Don  Martin  Garcia  de  Loyola, 
by  his  wife,  the  child  of  Sayri  Tupac.  Loyola's  daughter 
was  made  marchioness  of  Oropesa  in  her  own  right,  and 
married  to  a  Spanish  gentleman  of  distinction,  Don  Martin 
Henriquez  de  Borja. 

"  In  connection  with  the  death  of  Tupac  Amaru  it  de 
serves  to  be  mentioned,  that  Toledo,  on  his  return  from 
his  government,  did  not  meet  with  the  favorable  reception 
which  he  anticipated.  His  long  vice-regal  rule  had  been 
remarkably  prosperous.  He  counted  upon  holding  a  rank 
at  court  proportioned  to  the  importance  of  his  services 
abroad,  and  the  large  fortune  he  had  there  accumulated. 
Especially  he  presumed  that  his  labors  for  rendering  stable 
the  Spanish  empire  over  Peru,  by  regulating  the  mita  for 


ACLLAHUA.  69 

the  mines,  and  by  cutting  off  the  royal  family,  the  rallying 
point  of  disaffection  to  the  Peruvians,  would  be  amply  and 
suitably  remunerated.  But  in  this  hope  he  was  most  egre- 
giously  disappointed.  His  enemies  had  pre-occupied  tire 
king's  ear  with  an  exaggerated  account  of  his  riches,  and 
had  so  represented  his  execution  of  Tupac  Amaru,  that 
when  he  entered  the  presence  chamber  to  kiss  the  hand  of 
Philip  II.,  the  king  commanded  him  very  shortly  to  be 
take  himself  to  his  house,  for  that  he  had  been  sent  to 
Peru  to  serve,  not  to  slay,  monarchs.  Broken-hearted  at 
this  harsh  repulse,  and  at  the  complete  overthrow  of  his 
ambitious  expectations,  he  retired  to  learn  that  he  was 
also  accused  of  embezzling  public  monies,  and  that  the 
fiscal  officers  were  commissioned  to  take  possession  of  all 
his  gold  and  silver  until  the  truth  of  the  charge  was  ascer 
tained.  His  proud  spirit  could  not  brook  these  indignities 
from  a  master,  whom  if  he  had  offended,  it  had  only  been 
by  reason  of  excess  of  zeal  in  his  service.  In  a  short  time 
the  once  confident  Toledo,  sickened  and  died  of  pure  dis 
appointment^  and  chagrin, — in  this  respect  accomplishing 
the  poetic  justice,  which  his  cruel  and  unrighteous,  though 
politic  murder  of  Tupac  Amaru  and  of  the  Incas  de 
served." 

Don  Diego  Chocolato,  a  young  Castilian,  just  from  the 
university  of  Grenada,  had  joined  the  renowned  Pizarro, 
solely  from  the  love  of  glory.  He  knew  no  avarice,  and 
was  above  all  vulgar  ambition.  He  was  not  only  a  high- 
born  cavalier,  but  a  scholar,  a  gentleman,  and  every  way 
a  soldier, — from  feeling,  and  lofty  courage.  His  father 


70  ACLLAHUA. 

had  assisted  Pizarro  in  getting  up  his  enterprise  of  con 
quest,  for  the  advantage  of  Spain.  Don  Diego  had  kept 
in  his  service,  for  some  time,  a  young  Peruvian,  who  had 
been  taken  from  his  native  country  when  Pizarro  first  vi 
sited  Peru.  From  this  lad  Diego  had  acquired  some  know 
ledge  of  the  Peruvian  language.  The  youth  became  much 
more  attached  to  Diego  than  to  Pizarro,  and  was  constant 
ly  by  his  side.  While  Pizarro 'was  digesting  his  plans  of 
conquest,  Diego  was  looking  about  the  country,  to  mark 
its  capacities,  and  to  enjoy  its  sublime  and  beautiful  scene 
ry.  He  was  in  transports  at  every  view.  All  that  he  had 
examined  in  Spain  or  in  France, — the  gardens  of  Europe, 
— sunk  in  comparison  with  what  now  struck  his  astonish 
ed  sight.  The  hills  of  his  native  land,  covered  with  vines 
and  olive  trees,  was  a  paradise,  and  with  a  natural  love 
of  country,  he  believed  all  the  poets  had  said  of  both ;  but 
the  scenery  of  Peru  threw  Europe,  in  all  its  variety,  into 
the  shade.  He  was  a  botanist ;  and  the  groves  were  a 
wilderness  of  beautiful  trees,  mingled  with  flowers  of  ex- 
quisite  fragrance  and  colors.  He  was  an  ornithologist; 
and  birds  of  the  gayest  plumage,  and  sweetest  notes,  were 
seen  on  every  twig  and  branch.  One  fine  morning,  he 
took  his  fowling-piece  and  canister  for  plants,  and  made 
a  ramble  for  birds  and  flowers.  He  reached  a  cultivated 
spot,  not  far  from  the  city  of  Quito.  The  cultivated  ground 
was  surrounded  by  trees  and  shrubbery,  and  among  them 
were  myriads  of  birds.  The  Peruvian  youth  was  his  com 
panion  ;  but  as  he  was  entering  the  cleared  ground,  the 
lad  showed  great  signs  of  distress  and  horror,  and  entreat- 


ACLLAHUA.  71 

ed  Diego  not  to  put  his  foot  on  that  soil,  as  it  was  the 
CALOCAMPATA,  sacred  to  the  cultivation  of  the  Incas,  and 
all  who  trespassed  upon  it  were  put  to  death,  unless  they 
were  of  the  royal  family.  Don  Diego,  smiling,  said,  I  am 
of  the  royal  family  of  the  king  my  master,  and  therefore 
the  injunction  does  not  reach  me.  Without  any  further 
ceremony  he  strode  on ; — the  Peruvian  durst  not  follow 
him,  but  waited  in  an  agony  on  the  borders  of  the  sacred 
field.  After  wandering  a  while  on  the  skirts  of  the  woods, 
in  ecstasy  at  every  thing,  his  eye  caught  a  tall  plant,  ten  or 
twelve  feet  in  height.  It  was  crowned  with  numerous 
flowers,  exhibiting,  as  it  were,  so  many  suns,  of  every  co 
lor  in  nature,  from  the  paly  yellow  to  the  darkest  purple. 
He  had  never  seen  any  thing  before  in  the  garden  of  Flora 
half  so  splendid.  He  was  charmed  by  a  full  examination 
of  it.  He  was  ignorant  of  the  fact,  that  it  was  dedicated 
to  the  sun,  and  that  no  one  but  of  the  race  of  the  Incas 
were  allowed  to  touch  it:  probably  it  would  not  have 
troubled  him,  if  he  had  been  acquainted  with  the  supersti 
tion.  The  Spaniards  trod  the  soil  of  Peru,  from  the  first 
moment  they  landed,  as  its  masters.  This  is  the  same 
flower  which  has  since  been  transplanted  to  Europe,  and 
from  thence  to  North  America,  and  is  called  Dahlia,  from 
the  name  of  the  German  botanist  who  carried  it  to  Europe, 
whose  name  was  Dahl.  Having  shot  a  few  birds  to  draw 
and  paint  on  his  return  to  camp,  he  was  about  retracing 
his  steps,  when  on  an  old  catalpa  tree  he  saw  an  owl  of 
monstrous  size  near  her  nest.  This  tree  appeared  to  have 
been  her  habitation  for  ages.  The  bird  was  so  tame  that 


72  ACLLAHUA. 

he  hesitated  to  fire  at  it,  thinking  that  it  might  have  been 
domesticated;  but  unwilling  to  loose  so  good  a  chance  of 
adding  to  his  stock  of  ornithological  knowledge,  sportsman 
like,  he  brought  down  the  owl.  The  moment  she  fell,  a 
scream  from  an  hundred  throats  broke  forth,  and  as  many 
arrows  were  discharged  at  the  Spaniard's  body.  The 
guardian  of  the  CALOCAMPATA  had  watched  his  movements, 
but  had  been  restrained  from  violence  by  the  august  ap 
pearance  of  the  warlike  stranger,  and  from  the  terror  of 
the  fire-vomiting  divinity  he  carried  in  his  hand ;  but  this 
last  outrage  of  shooting  the  sacred  bird,  was  too  much  for 
them  to  endure.  The  first  flight  of  arrows  were  shot  at 
such  a  distance  from  their  ambush,  that  they  did  not  much 
harm,  but  as  he  attempted  to  gain  the  cleared  ground,  he 
fell  in  with  the  whole  body  of  the  guard,  and  received  a 
second  shower  of  arrows.  He  sustained  himself  for  a  mo 
ment,  long  enough  to  shoot  the  leader,  but  soon  sunk  un 
der  his  wounds.  The  dead  owl  was  in  his  hand,  and  no 
one  ventured  to  approach  him,  not  knowing  what  his  Jire- 
spirit,  the  gun,  might  do,  even  if  its  master  had  fallen. 
The  young  Peruvian  had  witnessed  the  attack  upon  his 
friend,  and  seeing  him  fall,  and  supposing  that  he  must  be 
slain,  from  the  number  of  arrows  discharged,  he  ran  to  the 
mansion  of  an  aged  cacique,  in  the  neighborhood,  to  beg 
of  him  to  rescue  the  body  of  the  gallant  officer  from  being 
the  prey  of  the  condors  of  the  mountains.  He  told  the 
old  man  the  story ;  but  urged  the  ignorance  of  the  stranger 
as  an  excuse  for  his  sacrilege.  The  good  old  man  listened 
with  attention,  and  ordered  his  men  to  bring  the  body  to 


ACLLAHUA.  73 

his  lodge  in  the  garden.  They  heard  the  order  with  a 
shudder,  but  bowed  their  heads  in  obedience.  As  they 
reached  the  garden,  some  sign  of  life  appeared  in  the  body 
they  were  bearing ;  and  the  cacique,  who  was  skilled  in 
the  medicinal  virtues  of  all  plants  and  herbs,  gave  the 
wounded  man  a  decoction  of  cuca  leaves,  which  soon 
brought  him  to  his  senses.  The  cavalier  expressed  his 
gratitude  to  his  deliverer,  who  made  signs  for  him  to  re 
main  quiet,  while  he  covered  his  wounds  with  crushed 
plantain  leaves,  which  soon  assuaged  their  anguish,  and 
allayed  the  fever  in  his  veins.  In  the  heat  of  the  day,  the 
wife  of  the  cacique,  with  her  two  daughters,  came  to  the 
lodge  in  the  garden,  with  large  bunches  of  feathers,  to 
give  a  gentle  resuscitating  breeze  to  his  face  and  lips.  The 
eldest  daughter  was  named  Nuna  Nina,  and  the  youngest 
Tanta  Ashla.  Diego  made  use  of  the  little  he  knew  of 
the  Peruvian  language,  to  thank  them  for  their  kindness. 
They  were  astonished  to  hear  him  speak  in  their  own 
tongue,  but  their  young  countryman  soon  explained  the 
mystery.  Diego  was  charmed  with  the  eldest  daughter 
of  the  cacique,  at  first  sight.  She  was  the  perfection  of 
Peruvian  beauty.  Her  height  was  majestic  for  that  of  her 
countrywomen,  her  limbs  finely  turned,  and  every  move 
ment  as  graceful  as  those  of  the  gazelle.  On  her  cheek 
was  the  flush  of  health,  and  in  her  eye  the  smile  of  inno 
cence.  Devoid  of  all  affectation,  her  tongue  was  the  in 
terpreter  of  her  feelings,  and  she  knew  no  guile.  Her 
sister  was  much  like  herself  in  person,  but  had  not  the 

same  mental  power.     The  cacique  had  kept  his  daughters 

7* 


74  ACLLAHUA. 

from  public  view,  as  Atahualpa  had  heard  of  their  beauty, 
and  wished  to  get  them  into  his  possession.  The  ancient 
laws  of  the  Incas  had  been  relaxed  in  regard  to  the  vir 
gins  of  the  sun.  At  first,  they  were  selected  and  brought 
to  the  temple  when  only  eight  years  of  age ;  but  of  latter 
years,  many  were  taken  at  a  more  mature  age,  for  the 
Incas  entered  the  vestal  abode  to  select  the  most  beautiful 
for  his  own  household.  The  old  cacique  exacted  a  pro 
mise  of  Don  Diego  that  he  would  be  silent  on  his  adven 
ture,  or  at  least  so  far  as  it  regarded  himself  and  daughters. 
Diego  slowly  recovered,  as  his  fair  attendants,  under  the 
direction  of  their  parents,  would  not  permit  him  to  indulge 
his  appetite  for  food.  They  gave  him  to  drink  the  milk 
of  the  lama,  boiled  in  a  golden  vessel,  to  be  certain  of  its 
purity,  twice  a  day,  and  once  a  roasted  silver  fish,  dressed 
with  aromatic  herbs,  both  savory  to  taste  and  smell 
After  his  fever  had  entirely  left  him,  the  cacique  gave  him 
a  decoction  of  cinchona, — the  Peruvian  bark, — which 
has  since  given  strength  to  hundreds  of  millions  of  the 
human  race.  The  paleness  on  the  cheek  of  Chocolato 
now  passed  away,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  fine  roseate 
tinge ;  and  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  as  noble  a  cavalier  as 
ever  "  witched  the  world  with  horsemanship,"  or  drew  a 
battle  blade.  The  attachment  between  him  and  Nuna 
Nina  now  increased.  She  came  every  day  to  the  lodge, 
before  his  wounds  were  healed,  and  amused  him  with  the 
tales  of  Peru,  the  history  of  the  Incas,  and  the  loves  and 
adventures  of  individuals.  The  language  of  the  country 
was  copious  and  sweet;  and  from  the  very  fact  that  they 


ACLLAHUA.  75 

had  no  letters,  their  memories  and  imaginations  were  the 
more  extensively  cultivated.  These  tales  grew  every  day 
of  a  more  tender  cast ;  and  what  began  in  the  common 
delineations  of  friendship,  now  glowed  in  all  the  fascina 
tions  of  love.  I  have  said  they  had  no  letters,  but  they 
were  made  accurate  historians  by  tradition ;  they  were 
obliged  to  trace  events  with  accuracy,  but  were  allowed  to 
indulge  their  own  imaginations  and  tastes  in  episodes  and 
ornaments.  Nuna  Nina  was  the  Scherezade  of  Peru,  and 
her  eloquence  was  as  sweet  as  poetry  or  song  from  the 
lips  of  enamored  and  enamoring  beauty.  All  was  purity 
and  love. 

Pizarro  thought,  from  his  long  absence,  that  Chocola- 
to  was  dead,  and  the  young  Peruvian  also,  as  no  traces  of 
them  could  be  found.  A  messenger  now  arrived  at  the 
abode  of  the  cacique,  who  informed  him  that  Atahualpa 
had  been  invited  to  visit  the  camp  of  Pizarro,  and  had 
summoned  all  his  great  officers  to  attend  him.  Diego 
hearing  this,  and  knowing  the  vast  ambition,  and  want  of 
high  honor,  in  Pizarro,  which  he  had  learned  since  he  left 
Spain,  was  apprehensive  of  treachery,  and  announced  his 
departure.  The  cacique  was  offended  when  the  Don 
talked  of  remuneration.  My  life  is  forfeited  for  what  I 
have  done ;  if  the  Inca  should  find  out  that  I  have  enter- 
tained  one  who  has  killed  the  sacred  owl,  my  life  and  that 
of  my  family  may  pay  the  forfeit.  All  I  ask  is,  that  as  you 
have  an  opportunity,  spare  the  blood  of  the  Peruvians.  I 
bid  you  farewell ;  may  you  be  a  favorite  of  the  sun  in  every 
hour  of  your  life.  They  all  shed  tears  at  parting.  Even 


76  ACLLAHUA. 

in  a  fashionable  and  cold-hearted  world,  kindness  and 
attention,  when  we  are  sick,  beget  lasting  affections,  and 
the  impression  is  deeper  and  more  lasting  when  their  atten 
tions  flow  from  the  philanthropy  of  strangers,  who  act 
neither  from  the  ties  of  kindred,  or  nation,  or  from  any 
hopes  of  notoriety  or  reciprocity.  The  heart  of  Don  Diego 
was  too  full  for  words ; — he  promised  them  that  he  would 
return,  and  be  their  friend  during  life.  The  stranger's 
horse,  which  the  young  Peruvian  had  secreted  in  the 
woods,  during  the  sickness  of  Diego,  and  fed  him  in  pri 
vacy,  for  fear  that  he  would  be  destroyed  by  the  natives, 
who  were  not  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  such  an  animal, 
was  now  brought  to  the  garden  gate.  Turning  to  Nuna, 
he  said,  "  We  shall  soon  meet  again."  "  Never,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Atahualpa,  by  this  time,  is  acquainted  with  all. 
He  will  take  us  to  the  temple  of  the  sun,  and  you  he  will 
destroy."  "  My  dear  friend,"  said  Diego,  "  if  you  have  no 
other  fears,  dismiss  them ;  the  emperor  dares  not  touch 
me,  and  shall  not  injure  you ;  the  Spaniards  have  terrible 
instruments  of  death,  the  Inca  cannot  hurt  them,  and  they 
understand  the  art  of  war."  Mounting  his  charger,  he 
soon  reached  Pizarro's  camp.  All  were  glad  to  see  him, 
except  Pizarro,  who  had  contemplated  the  capture  of  Ata- 
hualpa,  and  he  feared  that  the  high  Castilian  blood  of  Don 
Diego  Chocolato  would  mantle  his  cheek  at  any  appear 
ance  of  perfidy.  Diego  gave  a  general  account  of  his  ill 
ness,  and  of  the  kindness  he  had  experienced  from  the 
Peruvians,  but  did  not  mention  names,  or  precise  places. 
In  a  few  days  it  was  rumored  that  Atahualpa  had 


ACLLAHUA.  77 

made  his  preparations,  which  were  wonderfully  magnifi 
cent,  to  visit  the  Spanish  camp.  He  soon  made  his  ap 
pearance,  when  the  outrage  took  place  which  we  have 
recounted. 

Diego,  with  eight  or  ten  Castilians,  whose  lofty  feel 
ings  of  honor  would  not  permit  them  to  join  the  slaughter 
of  defenceless  men,  did  not  act  in  the  work  of  death  with 
Pizarro  and  his  assassins ;  but  while  he  was  turning  away 
from  the  bloody  spectacle,  the  young  Peruvian  rushed  to 
wards  Diego,  with  vengeance  in  his  looks,  and  gave  the 
information  that  Nuna  Nina  and  Tanta  Ashla  had  been 
dragged  from  their  father's  residence,  and  were  now  in 
the  Acllahua ;  that  this  was  done  by  the  emissaries  of  the 
emperor,  and  that  the  good  old  cacique  and  his  wife  were 
in  the  prisons  of  Quito,  for  having  shown  mercy  and  kind 
ness  to  one  who  had  profaned  the  ground  sacred  to  the 
cultivation  of  the  Incas,  and  shot  the  sacred  bird.  In  an 
instant  Diego  and  his  Castilians  were  on  a  gallop  towards 
the  city ;  and  on  reaching  the  golden  doors  of  the  temple, 
broke  them  into  a  thousand  pieces  with  their  battle-axes, 
and  were  at  once  in  the  midst  of  the  virgins,  who  were 
all  kneeling  before  the  image  of  the  sun,  and  with  down 
cast  eye  chanting  in  solemn  accents  a  hymn  of  propitia 
tion;  for  the  roar  of  Pizarro's  cannon,  and  the  discharge 
of  musketry,  were  reverberating  with  tremendous  echoes 
among  the  mountains  near  Quito,  and  filling  the  city  with 
affright.  When  the  priestess  lifted  up  her  eyes,  she  thought 
the  Castilians  were  demigods,  sent  from  the  sun  to  protect 
them,  and  they  changed  the  song  to  one  of  thanksgiving 


78  ACLLAHUA. 

and  praise.  Diego,  with  a  lover's  glance,  saw  his  adored 
Peruvian,  with  her  sister,  kneeling  in  the  outer  row  of  the 
vestals,  for  they  had  not  as  yet  taken  the  vows.  He  took 
the  fair  ones  by  the  hand,  and  led  them  forth,  while  the 
young  Peruvian  explained  to  the  virgins  the  reason  of  the 
forcible  entry  into  the  house  of  the  stars.  The  prisons 
were  near,  and  in  a  few  moments,  bars,  bolts,  and  doors, 
were  shivered  into  atoms,  and  the  cacique  and  his  wife 
were  on  their  way  to  the  Spanish  camp. 

Spanish  honor  and  love  would  not  admit  of  delay,  in 
such  a  case,  and  Don  Diego  Chocolato  was  married  after 
the  rites  of  the  church,  to  Nuna  Nina,  a  descendant  of 
the  Incas,  before  the  sun  had  gone  down  on  that  day's 
massacre, — and  in  a  few  days  Tanta  Ashla  became  the 
wife  of  Francisco  Davila,  a  brave  and  worthy  Castilian. 
These  were  the  first  marriages  between  the  Spaniards  and 
Peruvians.  When  Diego  entered  the  Acllahua,  he  was  sur 
prised  at  the  composure  of  Nuna.  She  seemed  as  serene  as 
if  she  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  house  for  years.  She  ap 
peared  an  emanation  of  a  lovely  morning  sun,  free  from  all 
clouds — and  followed  her  deliverer  as  if  she  expected  him 
as  a  bridegroom.  He  ventured  after  a  few  days  to  allude 
to  the  circumstance ; — she  smiling,  made  him  this  answer, 
"  I  knew  you  were  coming  to  relieve  me,  my  sister,  and 
father,  and  had  no  doubts  on  my  mind  about  the  whole 
affair.  I  told  the  priestess  of  the  sun,  all  that  was  to  take 
place,  and  she  believed  so  far  as  to  delay  the  religious 
ceremonies  of  the  vows.  She  consulted  the  oracles  of 
Acllahua,  and  their  responses  were  such  that  she  dared 


ACLLAHUA.  79 

not  insist  on  the  ceremonies  of  the  virgins  of  the  sun  at 
the  usual  time.  I  had  told  her  of  the  noise  of  the  cannon, 
of  the  captivity  of  Atahualpa. 

"This  fortitude  arose  from  a  vision  the  sun  suffered  me 
to  receive.  I  will,  for  your  satisfaction,  relate  it.  On  the 
evening  of  the  day  you  left  us,  Atahualpa  sent  us  to  the 
Acllahua.  I  looked  at  the  moon  our  mother,  and  praying 
with  all  the  agony  of  my  soul  to  be  relieved  from  the 
solemnities  of  the  religious  vows  or  the  embraces  of  the 
emperor  of  Quito,  I  fell  into  a  profound  sleep,  with  my 
eyelids  wet  with  tears,  and  my  heart  palpitating  with 
grief.  The  good  mother  of  the  Incas,  Coya  Mama,  came 
to  me  on  a  bright  and  golden  throne,  and  said  to  me, 
Daughter,  be  of  good  cheer,  your  inclinations  are  not  to 
be  violated.  All  will  be  well  with  you,  but  Oh  !  my 
country.  With  the  mother  of  the  Incas,  you  still 
are  safe.  I  was  at  once  transported  to  the  highest  point 
of  the  Andes,  and  not  only  the  whole  surface  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  sun  was  before  me,  but  all  the  civilized 
world  rose  up  to  my  view. 

"The  children  of  the  sun,"  she  continued,  "are  soon 
to  be  sunk  into  the  shades  of  night,  and  the  Incas  only  to 
be  a  subject  of  tradition,  perhaps  of  history.  The  empe 
ror  Atahualpa,  for  his  crimes,  is  to  suffer  death  without 
regret  or  honorable  mention.  He  was  your  enemy,  but 
he  is  no  longer  to  be  found.  Cast  your  eyes  on  either 
ocean  ;  all  must  submit  to  the  invaders.  They  will  rule. 
The  children  of  the  sun  will  be  commingled  with  this 
new  race.  Repine  not  at  this  ;  it  is  the  will  of  The  Un* 


80  ACLLAHUA. 

known  God,  who  is  greater  than  the  sun  ;  to  him  you  must 
bow.  The  Acllahua  will  soon  be  destroyed  ;  the  purity 
of  the  vestals  cannot  control  the  fates  ; — they  will  be 
scattered  and  forgotten,  and  a  solemn  race  of  friars,  monks, 
and  chanting  nuns  will  take  their  places.  It  must  be  so. 
The  last  groans  of  the  virgins  of  the  sun  are  now  sound 
ing  in  my  ears.  Other  nations  are  to  be  interested  in  the 
fate  of  the  Peruvians,  and  particularly  the  tribes  around 
us."  She  then  pointed  to  a  small  island  in  the  north 
east,  at  almost  a  sightless  distance.  It  seemed  but  a 
speck  in  the  horizon.  It  was  a  very  little  spot ;  they  had 
many  boats  ready  for  adventures.  The  GREAT  HARRY 
with  her  great  castles,  was  floating  in  the  waters,  and  her 
warriors  were  harnessed  for  the  fight.  "  That  small  island," 
said  Coya  Mama,  "  is  to  be  the  greatest  nation  on  the  great 
waters,  that  the  sun  even  looked  down  upon."  She  said, 
look  again.  The  Great  Harry  was  not  to  be  seen  ;  but  a 
virgin  queen,  a  priestess  of  the  sun,  was  seen  in  mortal 
fray,  with  an  hundred  ships,  and  was  victorious.  Her 
enemy  was  scattered,  sunk,  or  disappeared  ; — the  gods 
assisted  them,  she  said.  She  directed  my  attention  to  the 
immeasurable  wilds  of  the  north.  The  forests  were 
thick  and  tall;  and  here  and  there  a  red  man  was 
wandering  with  his  bow  to  kill  his  game.  I  was  directed 
to  look  again,  and  here  and  there  a  settlement  had  been 
made  by  white  men,  who  were  driving  the  red  men  from 
the  sea-shore.  They  grew  like  the  small  clouds  which 
hover  over  the  Andes  to  a  mighty  one,  and  in  one  vast 
storm  was  pouring  down  on  the  red  men.  "  Leave  them>" 


ACLLAHUA.  81 

said  Coy  a  Mama,  "  for  a  moment,  and  east  your  eye 
over  your  own  country,  and  all  those  around  you."  I 
looked,  and  one  vast  night  of  ignorance  and  bigotry  was 
reigning  from  the  Isthmus  to  the  Horn.  No  noise  was 
heard,  save  the  bigot's  prayer, — which  Heaven  never 
regards  ;  and  now  and  then  a  groan  of  suffering  humanity, 
in  the  cells  of  the  Inquisition,  went  up  to  Heaven  for 
vengeance.  Pride,  ignorance,  and  bigotry  were  the 
supreme  rulers  of  the  land.  Cowled  monks  were  seen 
moving  from  place  to  place,  to  mock  the  worshippers  ot 
the  sun,  and  those  who  doubted  their  own  divine  mission. 
The  philosophers  who  taught  us  that  our  god  was  good, 
were  wasting  their  days  in  prison  ;  and  he  who  thought 
for  himself  was  proscribed.  Turn  again  to  the  small  isle 
which  we  saw  just  now  ;  her  sails  whiten  every  sea — her 
thunders' are  heard  in  every  echo.  Again  I  stretched  my 
view  to  the  north ;  myriads  of  white  men  were  in  commo 
tion  ;  a  change  had  come  over  them,  and  they  were  eager 
to  sever  from  the  mother  country.  Anon,  it  was  done. 
Auain,  as  I  looked  at  Peru,  and  its  adjacent  countries, 
there  was  the  inconstant  and  flickering  lights  of  liberty 
seen  from  mountain  to  vale ;  sounds  were  heard  that 
startled  the  priest,  as  he  was  quietly  dozing  on  the  cross,  or 
mumbling  mass  at  the  altar.  From  these  countries  are  to 
come  vengeance  to  Spain,  and  succor  to  your  race.  The 
flashes  which  were  blazed  along  the  heavens,  became 
more  frequent,  and  spread  wider  and  rose  higher.  Sol- 
diers  were  seen  at  every  flash  with  arms  in  their  hands. 

passing  through  the  land,  and  breaking  down  all  barriers 

8 


82  ACLLAHUA. 

to  freedom.  At  the  head  of  these  armies  was  a  leader  of 
small  stature,  but  of  martial  air,  and  of  determined  mien. 
Wherever  he  went,  the  air  rung  with  plaudits,  and  every 
heart  seemed  inspired  with  confidence,  as  he  spake.  "  That 
hero,"  said  Coya  Mama  "  is  the  LIBERATOR  ;  in  his  veins 
flows  the  blood  of  two  lofty  races — the  Castilian,  and  that 
of  the  Peruvian  Incas.  See  with  what  chivalry  he  over 
comes  every  obstacle.  He  is  a  descendant  of  thine! 
He  will  claim  you  and  your  Spanish  lover  as  his  an 
cestors.  Nearly  three  centuries  must  pass  before  he 
shall  begin  his  labors,  but  the  sun  that  will  look  down 
upon  his  deeds  will  be  as  bright  and  beautiful  as  at  this 
time ; — the  god  of  the  Peruvians  grows  not  dim  with 
years.  Behold  that  train  who  lick  the  dust  of  his  feet  ; 
they  in  secret  envy  him.  By  whispers  of  his  ambition, 
they  attempt  to  sully  the  whiteness  of  his  fame — they  will 
succeed  to  break  his  noble  heart,  which  is  made  of  Peru 
vian  tenderness  and  Spanish  pride.  Greatness  often 
suffers  from  the  ignorance  of  the  many  and  envy  of  the 
few.  He  will  not  be  called  to  leave  the  world,  until  the 
cells  of  the  Inquisition  have  been  broken  up,  and  freedom 
in  religion  given  to  all.  He  will  cause  superstition  to  take 
her  flight,  and  relieve  the  spirit  of  man  from  thraldom,  as 
well  as  his  body,  and  his  soul  shall  walk  abroad  in  native 
majesty."  "  Heard  ye  that  solemn  strain  ?"  said  Coya 
Mama.  "  That  was  the  dirge  of  the  Liberator.  Ingrati 
tude  was  too  much  for  his  spirit  to  bear ;  but  his  fame 
will  never  die.  After  the  agitations  which  are  always 
attendant  in  a  nation  passing  from  chains  to  freedom, 


ACLLAHUA.  83 

shall  have  subsided,  altars  and  monuments  shall  rise  to 
his  memory,  inscribed  with  affection,  admiration,  and 
gratitude."  The  Andes  overlooking  the  clouds  were 
watching  the  day-spring,  as  we  beheld  this  last  scene  of 
the  Liberator's  career,  and  with  the  first  clear  ray 
of  her  god,  the  mighty  spirit  of  the  mother  of  the  Incas 
commingled,  and  was  gone  from  my  sight. 

Don  Diego  delighted  to  find  his  wife  a  philosopher 
and  priestess  by  a  dream — and  was  more  so  as  he  found 
her  impressions  received  in  the  vision,  growing  stronger 
every  day  ;  and  his  own  doubts  were  in  a  good  degree 
removed,  when  he  was  satisfied  of  the  maternity  of  Nuna, 
and  witnessed  the  death  of  Atahualpa.  The  drama  had 
opened  not  to  be  closed  until  all  was  fulfilled. 


THE    TROGLODYTES 

"  Some  are  born  with  base  impediments  to  rise, 
And  some  are  burn  with  none." 

NEAR  the  mouth  of  an  eastern  ri?er  in  the  United 
States,  is  to  be  found  an  island,  nine  miles  long,  and 
from  one  to  two  wide,  formed  almost  entirely  of  shifting 
sands.  Every  storm  changes  some  portion  of  the  physi 
ognomy  of  this  island.  Its  whole  vegetation  consists,  with 
the  exception  of  a  small  portion  of  the  southern  end,  in  a 
few  juniper  bushes,  and  some  few  other  scraggy,  stinted 
shrubs  of  that  class  ; — but  during  some  years,  after  a  wet 
spring,  a  small  bush  springs  from  the  sand  and  bears  a 
irrayish  plumb,  nearly  as  large  as  a  damson,  which  in 
September  is  very  delicious.  Barren  as  the  place  is 
of  vegetation,  it  is  full  of  life.  In  the  summer  season 
countless  millions  of  spiders  are  found  on  the  sand,  or 
swinging  from  the  bushes,  on  their  airy  webs,  in  size 
from  the  circumference  of  a  cent  to  the  smallest  thing 
that  gives  proof  of  life.  About  a  mile  from  the  east  side 
of  the  island  is  a  bar  of  sand  hardly  covered  at  low 
water  ;  over  which,  when  the  wind  is  easterly,  the  sea 
rolls,  and  breaks  with  great  force  and  sublimity.  Gazing 
on  these  resounding  billows,  one  is  impressed  with  the 
words  of  inspiration,  to  the  mighty  ocean,  "  Hitherto  shaft 
thou  come,  and  no  farther ;  and  here  shall  thy  proud 
&* 


%  THE    TROGLODYTES. 

waves  be  stayed"  The  sea-birds,  from  the  tiny  peep,  the 
long-legged  snipe,  the  fine  plovers,  gray  and  black- 
breasted,  up  to  the  wild  goose,  make  this  island  their 
caravansary,  as  they  pass  from  south  to  north,  and  on 
their  return.  They  love  to  linger  along  these  shores,  and 
feed  and  rest  themselves  for  the  great  journeys  the  God  of 
nature  has  taught  them  to  make,  for  continuing  their 
species,  and  for  the  benefit  of  man.  In  spring  and  fall, 
the  island  is  the  sportsman's  paradise.  He  chooses  the 
smaller  or  the  greater  game  at  pleasure,  and  returns 
loaded  with  it.  Often  the  great  gray  eagle  is  seen  sailing 
and  poising  in  his  majesty,  in  order  to  prey  upon  the  small 
bird,  or  watch  his  jackall,  the  fish-hawk,  to  bring  up  his 
prey  from  the  ocean.  The  subservient  hawk  dives  into 
the  water  for  the  fish  for  himself.  The  eagle,  measuring 
his  distance,  darts  upon  the  hawk  with  the  greatest 
swiftness ;  who  with  a  scream  of  fear  drops  his  prey,  and 
the  eagle  seldom  fails  to  catch  it  before  it  reaches  land  or 
water.  This  amusement  to  the  spectator  is  often  con 
tinued  for  hours,  until  the  bird  of  Jove  is  surfeited  with 
more  substantial  food  than  nectar,  such  as  his  master 
feeds  on.  When  the  eagle  turns  to  poise  himself  after 
seizing  his  prey,  is  the  time  to  take  aim,  if  you  are 
disposed  to  bring  him  down.  It  is  a  dangerous  sport  for 
boys,  and  of  course  they  are  fond  of  it.  Nine  times  out 
of  ten,  the  eagle  is  not  shot  dead,  if  struck  by  the  ball, 
but  falls  with  a  broken  wing,  full  of  wrath  at  his  misfor 
tune  and  disgrace.  Then  let  the  young  sportsman  be  or* 
his  guard. 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  87 

On  each  end  of  the  island,  there  are  two  houses,  but 
no  trace  of  civilization  marks  the  intermediate  waste, 
excepting  a  hut  here  and  there,  erected  by  some  charita 
ble  societies  to  save  shipwrecked  mariners  thrown  in 
the  storm  upon  this  deceitful  shore.  These  are  filled 
with  fuel  and  provisions  for  them  in  such  emergencies, 
and  it  is  considered  as  a  species  of  sacrilege  to  rob  these 
depositories,  and,  to  the  honor  of  human  nature,  things 
tempting  have  been  left  there  for  years,  untouched  by 
a  thief  or  trespasser.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river, 
on  the  main  land,  there  have  lived  for  ages  a  race  of  fisher 
men,  who  from  their  ignorance  and  modes  of  life  are  de 
nominated  Algerines.  They  supply  the  market  of  the 
neighboring  town — a  beautiful  mart  of  commerce  within  a 
few  miles — with  all  sorts  offish.  One  of  these  Algerines, 
getting  into  a  quarrel  with  his  neighbors,  determined  to 
forego  the  advantages  of  society,  and  migrate  to  the  island 
the  first  fair  opportunity.  This  was  a  bold  decision — for 
these  sea-dogs,  who  fear  nothing  else,  fear  departed  spirits, 
and  tradition  had  been  busy  in  making  this  desolate  island 
the  rendezvous  of  the  pirates,  who  in  former  days  swarmed 
on  the  coast  of  North  as  well  as  South  America.  Stories 
of  buried  treasures  and  foul  murders  were  still  rife  among 
them.  Afar  off  in  the  country,  bold  men  who  had  heard  of 
the  buried  treasures  of  the  Buccaneers,  with  "  all  their 
damned  rites  of  sepulture,"  sometimes  came  to  the  island 
to  dig  for  it ;  but  there  is  no  well  authenticated  account 
of  the  success  of  the  avaricious,  with  all  the  charms  they 
could  muster,  to  break  the  fast  spell  with  which  it  was 


88  THE    TROGLODYTES. 

bound.  In  confirmation  that  it  was  "haunted  ground,' 
hundreds  had  declared  that  they  had  heard  the  plaintive 
moans  of  ghosts  upon  the  breeze  that  preceded  a  storm. 
Neddy  Ball,  the  fisherman,  who  intended  to  migrate,  did 
not  think  so  much  of  this  as  many  others  did,  for  he  said 
he  never  heard  these  sounds,  only  when  the  wind  blew 
from  the  eastward,  and  if  there  were  as  many  ghosts  as 
he  had  seen  alewives  go  up  the  river,  he  was  not  afraid 
of  them  ;  for  they  would  not  touch  him,  for  he  had  saved 
more  than  one  man's  life;  and  his  mother  had  always 
told  him,  that  when  he  saved  a  human  being's  life, 
no  ghost  or  witch  could  have  any  power  over  him  to  do 
him  harm.  *.! 

Fortune  soon  favored  Neddy's  enterprise.  In  a  great 
freshet  in  the  spring,  large  quantities  of  timber  floated 
down  the  river,  and  lodged  on  the  island,  and  larger 
quantities,  perhaps,  went  out  to  sea.  The  owners  of 
these  broken  rafts,  now  and  then,  have  recovered  this 
lodged  timber,  by  way  of  their  marks.  In  this,  they  are, 
however,  often  thwarted  by  these  Algerines,  and  others  of 
their  grade,  by  a  process  they  call  mooning,  that  is,  by 
taking  advantage  of  a  moon-light  night,  for  cutting  out 
the  marks  on  the  timber,  and  floating  it  off,  when  the 
high  tide  serves  their  purposes.  Without  an  ear-mark, 
timber  is  only  drift-wood.  They  have  no  other  way  to 
get  fuel,  and  they  have  no  compunctions  of  conscience  in 
doing  this  ;  for  they  consider  this  wood  a  god-send — and 
that  it  belongs  to  them,  as  it  breaks  away  from  the  owner. 
Neddy  and  his  family  having  been  quite  successful  in 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  89 

mooning,  set  about  to  build  themselves  a  convenient  cabin. 
This  was  done  by  the  assistance  of  their  few  friends,  in  a 
short  time ;  and  it  required  no  great  time  for  the  removal 
of  his  furniture,  or  household  gods.  He  formed  his  cabin 
strong,  and  quite  comfortable.  Now  he  was  independent. 
He  felt  no  ambition  for  preferment  in  civil  or  military  life. 
He  was  a  hardy,  industrious  fisherman,  and  owned  his 
boat ;  he  had  taken  her  on  shares  at  first,  but  now  had 
"  worked  her  out."  He  had  a  wife,  two  sons  and  two 
daughters,  and  while  a  part  of  the  family  were  fishing, 
the  others  were  selling  the  produce  of  their  labors  in  the 
market.  They  supported  a  good  reputation  for  honesty. 
The  cabin  had  just  begun  to  attract  the  notice  of  the 
sportsman,  as  a  place  to  rest  for  a  few  moments,  to  get  a 
bite  of  broiled  fish,  after  fatiguing  himself  by  travelling 
in  the  sands ;  when  a  sudden  storm  arose,  and  so  far 
changed  the  masses  of  sand,  that  the  light-houses  were  so 
much  out  of  their  correct  bearings  as  to  make  it  necessary 
to  give  them  a  new  position  ;  and  while  they  were  doing 
this,  it  was  discovered  that  Neddy's  house  was  covered 
with  sand.  He  had  manfully  kept  a  breathing  hole  from 
the  door  by  the  help  of  his  clam-spade ; — he  was  the 
owner  of  such  an  instrument — for  frequently,  at  low 
water,  Neddy  dug  a  load  of  clams,  for  amusement,  as 
Beau  Tibbs'  wife  washed  her  husband's  shirts  for  ex 
ercise. 

Among  those  who  visited  the  island  after  the  storm, 
was  a  merchant,  every  way  a  splendid  man,  in  talents 
and  fortune.  He  was  a  military  man,  a  legislator,  gene« 


90  THE    TROGLODYTES. 

rous  and  brave.  He  was  curious  to  observe  every  thing. 
With  him  was  his  friend,  a  young  counsellor  at  law.  The 
buried  fisherman's  family  were  known  to  them,  and  they 
repaired  at  once  to  examine  the  extent  of  the  disaster  of 
the  fisherman.  The  Troglodytes,  as  the  counsellor  play 
fully  named  them,  from  their  present  situation;  for  they, 
like  those  of  ancient  story  in  the  extended  regions  of  Ethi 
opia,  literally  came  from  a  cavern  in  the  earth.  The  bu 
ried  fisherman  and  his  family  were  thankful  for  the  relief 
afforded  them,  for  many  days  had  they  been  deprived  of 
their  ordinary  sources  of  subsistence.  The  weather  be 
came  calm,  and  the  next  day  Neddy  was  at  the  door  of  his 
benefactors,  with  a  fish  so  fresh  that  a  farewell  to  his  na 
tive  element  seemed  yet  to  be  on  his  tongue,  and  his  eye 
had  not  lost  a  particle  of  its  life. 

Neddy,  this  time,  had  caught  a  good  freight.  In  a 
few  weeks  he  appeared  in  the  market  with  clams  only  ; 
and  on  meeting  the  counsellor,  the  latter  inquired  why  he 
had  left  bringing  cod  and  haddock,  and  taken  to  dealing 
in  clams,  as  clamming  was  not  so  profitable  or  honorable 
as  fishing.  "Why,  squire,"  said  he, — for  the  humblest 
suppose  that  their  good  or  ill  fortune  is  known  to  all  men, 
— "  dont  you  know  that  we've  lost  our  boat ;  she  was  lent 
to  a  friend,  and  he  got  her  swampt  on  the  hump-sands." 
The  counsellor  had  been  busy  in  his  profession,  and  had 
not  been  made  acquainted  with  the  ill  luck  of  his  friends, 
the  Troglodytes ;  but  after  hearing  the  story,  he  said, 
"Well,  Neddy,  your  friend  the  colonel  is  out  of  town,  but 
you  shall  not  want  for  a  boat.  What  will  purchase  one  as 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  91 

good  as  you  want,  Neddy  ?"  said  the  counsellor.  The 
sum  was  named ;  but  as  it  was  known  to  the  friends  of 
Neddy  that  those  who  ask  a  favor  diminish  the  necessary 
sum,  he  set  down  double  as  much  as  Neddy  stated  would 
suffice,  and  in  a  generous  community  soon  obtained  all  he 
required,  by  a  subscription  among  his  circle  of  friends. 
In  a  few  days  Neddy  was  master  and  owner  of  just  such  a 
craft  as  his  heart  panted  after ;  for  he  was  desired  to  see 
the  boat-builder,  and  agree  as  to  size,  material,  and  fash 
ion  of  his  boat;  and  Neddy,  in  his  directions,  said  he 
wanted  to  have  a  little  of  the  life-boat  fashion  in  her,  as 
he  intended  to  earn  some  of  the  premiums  given  by  the 
Humane  Society  for  saving  persons  from  drowning.  The 
boat  was  finished  as  he  desired,  and  in  his  gratitude  he 
muttered,  that  he  guessed  he  should  get  a  share  of  '  that 
are  money.'  Neddy  had  already  received  several  premi 
ums  from  that  society,  for  his  exertions  in  saving  ship 
wrecked  mariners.  The  Troglodytes  had  been  prospe 
rous  all  that  season,  and  held  up  their  heads,  conscious  of 
their  own  exertions,  and  proud  of  the  acquaintances  they 
had  formed.  They  were  able  all  round  to  get  a  comforta 
ble  suit  of  go-to-meeting  clothes,  partly  boughten,  and 
partly  made  from  the  old  wardrobes  of  their  friends ;  and 
once  or  twice  ventured  to  be  seen  in  them.  This  was  no 
small  effort,  for  the  envy  of  the  vulgar  is  the  greatest  diffi 
culty  the  humble  have  to  surmount  in  their  attempts  to 
rise.  Neddy  now  delighted  in  self-government.  He  had 
been  worried  in  the  Algerine  community,  aud  was  not 
fond  of  the  civilization  he  had  seen,  to  which  he  could 


92  THE    TROGLODYTES. 

have  no  access.  Although  he  had  not  read  Vattel  or  Azu- 
ni  on  the  laws  of  nations,  he  understood  his  own  rights  as 
well  as  any  one.  He  drew  his  living  from  resources  that 
were  inexhaustible, — from  a  bank  which  required  no  en 
dorser  for  a  discount,  and  from  which  no  public  functiona 
ry  could  withdraw  the  deposites, — a  bank  which  was  char 
tered  in  the  morning  of  creation  to  run  until  the  end  of 
time,  or  as  long  as  the  "globe  was  poised,  or  the  sea  rolled 
a  wave."  The  clam  ground  belonged  to  the  public,  and 
he  felt  that  as  a  native,  a  descendant  of  the  pilgrims,  who 
lived  so  long  upon  faith  and  clams,  that  he  had  equal  rights 
with  all  others  around  him,  to  the  use  of  the  Flats,  and  to 
take,  without  stint,  the  quohogs  as  he  pleased. 

A  few  years  after  the  independent  Troglodytes  had 
been  established,  much  to  the  benefit  of  society,  the  mer 
chant  and  his  friend  took  a  ride  to  the  island, — as  they 
were  in  the  habit  of  doing.  A  bridge  connected  it  with 
the  main  land ;  one  to  enjoy  a  sea-breeze,  the  other  a  sea- 
bath.  The  former  was  a  Leander  in  swimming.  He  often 
amused  himself  for  hours  in  the  sea.  Few  dared  to  swim 
near  the  island,  for  in  most  parts  of  it  there  was  a  high 
surf,  which  was  appalling  to  ordinary  swimmers,  but  only 
a  matter  of  amusement  to  him.  He  passed  through  the 
surf  as  easily  as  a  Sandwich  islander.  It  was  a  fine  warm 
day  in  August, — the  merchant  went  to  his  swimming,  and 
the  counsellor  took  his  last  Edinburgh  Review  from  his 
pocket,  to  amuse  himself  until  his  friend  returned  to  par 
take  of  the  dinner  of  fried  fish  and  chowder  which  was 
promised  by  the  cook  in  the  course  of  an  hour.  So  intent 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  93 

was  the  reader  upon  one  of  these  racy  articles  in  that 
work,  which,  if  they  do  not  always  convince,  must  certainly 
chain  the  mind  to  the  subject,  from  their  power  and  spright- 
liness,  that  for  a  long  time  he  did  not  perceive  a  brazen 
looking  cloud  arising  from  the  west,  and  when  he  did  ob 
serve  it,  a  tornado  instantly  followed.     It  had  passed  down 
the  river,  and  went  out  to  sea  in  a  terrific  fury.     Before 
it  had  reached  the  island,  the  superintendent  of  the  light 
house  had,  from  apprehension,  hoisted  his  flag  of  distress, 
and  fired  his  six  pounder,  which  he  had  at  the  foot  of  the 
flag-staff,  to  give  the  swimmer  notice  of  his  danger,  and 
all,  that  some  one  was  in  distress;  but  the  swimmer  seem 
ed  quite  insensible  of  his  danger,  and  at  ease.     The  tor 
nado  swept  on,  and  he  saw  it  too  late  to  attempt  to  return, 
and  with  the  cool  judgment  which  he  always  possessed, 
prepared  himself  to  be  carried  before  it.      The  wave?, 
which  had  been  running  high,  were  now  struck  down  to 
an  almost  smooth  surface,  ominous  of  some  great  convul 
sion.     He  thought  that  if  it  were  true  that  the  sea  was  a 
monster  that  was  constantly  moaning  for  human  victims, 
lie  was  now  rebuked  by  some  superior  power.     He  was 
during  this  whole  time  cool  and  collected,  for  he  was  a 
child  of  the  ocean,  and  could  say, 

!;And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean!  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports,  was.  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward :  from  a  boy 
I  \vantonM  with  thy  breakers.    They  to  me 
Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror,  'twas  a  pleasing  fear, 
For  I  was  as  it  were  a  child  of  thee, 
.And  trusted  to  thy  billow  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  mane." 

After  the  tornado  had  swept  along,  the  cry  was  heard, 
9 


94  THE    TROGLODYTES. 

<f  Colonel  G.  is  still  above  water.  I  see  his  head !  I  see 
his  head !"  The  counsellor,  in  the  greatest  distress, 
mounted  his  horse  and  rode  with  all  possible  speed  through 
the  sand  to  the  Troglodytes,  to  call  on  them  to  succor  his 
friend.  They  had  been  spectators  of  their  patron's  dan 
ger,  and  the  first  minute  that  it  had  been  practicable,  had 
manned  their  boat.  I  say  manned  her, — she  had  on  board 
the  old  man,  Ball,  his  two  sons  and  two  daughters.  The 
girls  were  fair  looking  lasses,  one  about  fifteen  years  of 
age,  the  other  about  thirteen.  As  the  counsellor  was  ap 
proaching  the  boat,  he  saw  the  mother  of  the  family  hand 
her  old  night-gown  to  her  oldest  daughter.  There  is  an 
instinctive  delicacy  about  an  innocent  woman,  in  the  hum 
blest  grades  of  life,  that  a  man  never  knows.  The  coun 
sellor  rushed  to  the  water's  edge,  and  leaping  from  his 
horse,  was  about  throwing  himself  into  the  boat,  when  the 
eldest  girl,  to  prevent  him  from  getting  on  board,  shoved 
her  off,  with  a  cheek  mantling  with  high  feeling,  and  her 
fine  blue  eyes  flashing  with  courage  and  decision  of  cha 
racter  ;  and  as  she  cleared  the  boat  from  the  shore,  said 
with  a  loud  voice,  "  No,  Squire,  you  shan't  come  into  the 
boat.  If  the  Colonel  should  be  drowned,  and  our  boat 
swampt,  and  you  were  with  us,  who  would  there  be  to  bury 
us,  or  to  give  our  old  mother  a  shilling  to  keep  her  from 
starving  ?  You  shan't  go ;  an  hundred  of  us  had  better  be 
drowned  than  you :  and  then  there  is  Miss  Martha,  what 
would  she  say,  if  I  were  to  let  you  go  with  us  and  be 
drowned  ?"  Not  another  word  was  spoken  ;  the  sons  and 
daughters  sat  themselves  down  to  their  oars,  the  old  man 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  95 

took  the  helm,  and  the  boat,  built  after  the  life-boat  fash 
ion,  skimmed  the  waves  like  a  nautilus.  The  sea,  which 
had  been  flattened  while  the  tornado  was  passing,  now 
rose  in  long,  heavy  swells,  which  the  light-house  man 
thought  quite  as  dangerous  as  the  breakers.  He  ascended 
the  flag-staff  with  his  spy-glass,  and  gave  the  cheering  in 
telligence  that  the  Colonel's  head  was  yet  to  be  seen,  and 
that  he  was  still  swimming  off  shore.  This  would  have 
hardly  been  credited  by  the  by-standers,  if  his  extraordi 
nary  powers  in  the  water  had  not  have  been  known  to  all 
of  them.  The  man  with  the  glass  next  cried  out,  "  The 
young  Balls  have  jumped  overboard,  they  are  lifting  him 
into  the  boat ;  he  is  in,"  was  the  next  ejaculation.  In  a 
moment  the  man  came  down  laughing.  He  begged  par 
don  of  the  Squire,  for  he  could  not  help  laughing  to  see  the 
Colonel,  one  of  the  best  dressed  men  in  the  world,  with 
mother  Ball's  night-gown  on !  The  boat  returned, — the 
Colonel  was  not  much  exhausted.  While  dressing  him 
self,  he  very  emphatically  declared,  that  mother  Ball's 
night-gown  was  never  to  be  sent  home ;  he  would  send  one 
in  place  of  it.  The  preserved  officer  requested  the  Tro 
glodytes  to  come  to  town  and  see  him,  on  the  morrow,  and 
enjoined  it  upon  the  old  man  to  bring  the  whole  group. 

After  eating  a  good  dinner  of  fried  fish,  the  friends 
mounted  their  horses  and  rode  home.  The  news  had 
reached  the  family  of  the  Colonel  before  he  did,  and  the 
subject  was  talked  over  in  a  full  assembly  of  friends.  It 
was  agreed  that  the  eldest  girl  was  the  soul  of  the  expedi 
tion  for  his  rescue.  The  counsellor,  who  had  baptized  them 


96  THE    TROGLODYTES, 

the  Troglodytes,  now  prepared  to  call  Miss  Judith  Ball  the 
second  Joan  of  Arc.  Several  of  the  friends  of  Colonel 
G.  were  present  when  the  Troglodytes,  in  a  body,  made 
their  appearance.  The  Colonel,  taking  Miss  Judith  by 
the  hand,  said,  "  Now,  my  smart,  fine  girl,  what  shall  I  give 
you  as  a  reward  for  your  courage  and  kindness?  Ask 
freely  ;  don't  be  mealy-mouthed;"  suiting  the  expression  to 
her  vocabulary.  The  girl,  blushing,  replied,  "  I  don't 
know  how  to  read."  "Well,  well,  no  matter,"  said  the 
Colonel ;  thinking  it  was  a  sort  of  an  apology  for  the  lan 
guage  she  might  be  about  to  use.  "  But  I  want  to  know 
how  to  read."  The  Colonel,  struck  with  this  sensible 
wish  of  the  girl,  said,  "  You  shall  know  how  to  read,  and 
have  books  to  read  too."  Parson  D.  was  there,  and  made 
a  sage  remark,  which  was,  "  that  Solomon's  request  of  the 
Lord,  in  his  dream,  was  of  the  same  nature."  The  dream 
of  Solomon  was  unknown  to  Judith  Ball ;  it  was  an  origi 
nal  wish  in  her.  The  family  were  removed  to  a  comforta 
ble  dwelling-house ;  the  children  sent  to  school ;  the  boys 
in  the  evening,  and  during  the  six  winter  months,  and  the 
girls  constantly,  until  they  could  read,  write,  and  cipher. 
The  Colonel,  in  his  gratitude,  was  noble,  but  judicious ; 
he  assisted  them  to  make  themselves.  The  cavern  was 
filled  up  with  sand,  and  the  name  of  the  Troglodytes  was 
changed  into  Skipper  Ball  and  family.  He  being  the 
owner  of  a  bank-fishing  schooner,  and  his  boys,  grown 
men,  were  sharers  in  his  voyages.  The  daughters  were 
well  married,  it  being  known  that  Colonel  G.  would  be  the 
patron  of  their  husbands,  if  they  deserved  it,  by  their 


THE    TROGLODYTES.  97 

industry  and  good  conduct.  Peace,  plenty,  and  happiness, 
was  in  all  their  borders.  Poverty  was  banished  from  their 
habitation.  Their  misfortunes  were  only  such  as  befall 
the  best, — the  common  casualties  of  life.  One  of  the  sons 
was  killed  fighting  bravely  on  board  the  sloop  of  war 
Wasp,  in  her  first  engagement.  He  was  gunner  of  the 
ship,  and  as  smart  a  fellow  as  ever  walked  a  deck.  His  dis 
tinguished  commander  bore  testimony  to  his  worth.  The 
other  son,  and  the  two  daughters  and  their  children,  are 
among  the  respectable  commonalty  of  the  country.  Their 
aged  father  and  mother  have  lately  sunk  to  rest,  in  a  good 
old  age,  bearing  unexceptionable  characters  for  morals 
and  piety.  At  their  funerals,  the  Colonel  followed  them 
to  the  grave  as  a  mourner,  next  to  the  family.  Their  be 
nefactor,  too,  has  since  paid  the  debt  of  nature.  His 
bounty  was  judiciously  bestowed,  and  produced  the  best 
effects.  The  most  lavish  hand,  without  these  kind  atten 
tions,  would  not  have  laid  the  foundation  of  respectability 
through  the  medium  of  industry.  This  short  tale  proves 
that  there  are  good  feelings  in  the  hearts  of  the  humble, 
and  that  patronage  and  gratitude  are  not  always  empty 
names. 

9* 


THE    TENSONS. 


"Thev  sung 

Of  Palfnes  white,  of  Lady's  love, 
And  courtly  Knights  in  armor  brave." 

Provencial  Poetry. 

WHEN  Raymond  Berenger  and  his  successors,  who 
governed  Provence,  introduced  into  the  south  of  France 
a  taste  for  letters,  and  the  arts  and  sciences,  a  spirit 
of  chivalry  and  a  love  of  liberty  burst  forth  unknown  to 
former  ages.  This  passion  for  letters  and  science  had 
flourished  for  centuries  in  Arabia,  and  was  at  this  time 
rapidly  spreading  through  Spain  as  well  as  the  south 
of  France.  A  taste  for  poetry  was  a  natural  concomitant. 
In  Provence  it  was  cultivated  by  many,  and  patronized 
by  all.  At  this  period  of  history,  when  the  crusades  had 
given  a  new  impulse  to  the  human  mind,  women  arose 
from  being  only  the  help-meets  of  man,  such  as  she  was 
made  for,  to  be  a  divinity  to  worship.  They  directed  the 
destinies  of  men,  and  demanded  homage  from  them. 
This  age  of  gallantry  had  its  uses.  It  softened  the  barba 
rous  features  of  the  dark  ages,  by  diffusing  knowledge 
among  the  wealthy,  which  if  followed  by  freedom  of  man- 
ners,  certainly  was  accompanied  by  refinement.  This 
excitement  produced  the  Troubadours,  a  body  of  poets 
and  musicians,  who  for  several  centuries  held  a  higher 


100  THE    TENSONS. 

rank,  and  had  a  more  extraordinary  influence,  than  any 
class  of  the  literati  in  any  age  of  letters.  They  were 
admitted  to  the  highest  grades  of  society  as  equals,  and 
to  them  genius,  wealth,  and  beauty,  paid  the  homage 
of  admiration.  The  princes  and  dukes  of  the  land 
numbered  them  among  their  friends.  The  potentate  who 
had  in  his  household  the  greatest  number  of  these  bards, 
was  the  most  to  be  envied.  From  these  Troubadours 
have  sprung  modern  poetry,  and  modern  music,  as  is 
agreed  on  all  hands.  At  the  time  of  their  glory,  distant 
nations  sought  for  these  bards,  as  means  of  exalting 
a  nation  and  giving  a  whole  people  a  taste  for  letters — 
"the  humanizers  of  mankind."  About  the  middle  of  the 
twelfth  century,  Geoffrey  de  Resdel  of  Blieux,  in 
Provence,  was  invited  to  England  by  a  brother  of  Richard 
the  First.  Here  he  was  held  in  the  highest  honor,  and 
made  wealthy  from  the  royal  coffers  ; — but  on  hearing  from 
the  knights  who  had  returned  from  the  HOLY  LAND,  of  a 
lady  of  exquisite  beauty,  of  great  piety  and  of  unbounded 
liberality,  one  who  had  extended  to  the  knights  the  most 
generous  hospitality,  he  fell  violently  in  love  with  this  fair 
dame,  the  Countess  of  Tripoli,  whom  he  had  never  seen ; 
but  her  virtues  and  her  charms  occupied  his  whole 
thoughts.  He  wrote  poetry  on  her — addressed  to  "  afar 
distant  love," — and  wrought  himself  up  to  so  great  a 
phrenzy,  that  he  could  no  longer  endure  the  palace  of  a 
king,  but  must  needs  have  a  sight  of  this  darling  of  his 
soul.  Having  prevailed  on  one  of  his  friends,  Bertrand 
d'Allamaron,  a  Troubadour,  like  himself,  to  accompany 


THE    TENSONS.  101 


him  to  the  Levant  ;  he  quitted  the  cqurt,  of 
1162,  to  visit  the  Holy  Land,  to  eaten  new  inspirations, 
and  to  see  his  adored  countess;  in  h/3  ivajr.;,  Hi's^iHhriei- 
asm  was  wound  up  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  was  attacked 
by  a  severe  illness,  and  had  lost  the  powers  of  articula- 
tion'when  he  arrived  at  Tripoli.  While  lying  in  this  state, 
the  beloved  countess  heard  that  a  celebrated  poet  was 
dying  of  love  of  her  on  board  a  vessel,  then  in  the  harbor. 
She  lost  no  time,  but  visited  him  on  ship-board.  She  was 
led  to  the  cot  of  the  expiring  bard,  and  took  him  kindly 
by  the  hand,  and  whispered  to  him  accents  of  comfort. 
The  influence  of  her  divine  voice  resuscitated  the  poet 
sufficiently  to  give  him  strength  and  tongue,  to  thank  his 
adored  for  her  kindness,  and  to  declare  the  sincerity 
of  his  passion  —  but  further  explanations  were  silenced  by 
the  convulsions  of  death.  The  countess  had  the  body 
removed  to  her  palace,  and  distinguished  honors  paid  to 
his  funeral  solemnities.  She  also  erected  over  his  grave 
a  splendid  monument  of  porphyry,  with  an  inscription  in 
Arabic,  from  which  many  of  the  above  facts  have  been 
obtained. 

The  bards  and  minstrels  of  a  later  date  find  but  few 
such  as  the  countess  of  Tripoli.  In  these  days  were 
instituted  "  COURTS  OF  LOVE,"  held  only  by  women,  with 
their  attendant  guests,  the  Troubadours.  In  them  were 
recited  warm  and  tender  poems  on  the  beauty  of 
women,  their  influence,  and  their  divine  right  to  rule. 
These  poets  dealt  in  romantic  descriptions,  comparing  the 
lustre  of  woman's  eye  to  the  brightness  of  the  evening 


102  THE    TENSONS. 

'  sicuy.and  her  TQice  jto|a  seraph's  harp.  Sometimes  when 
excited  by  "the'se  eridianting  strains,  the  fair  members 
job'  the  cokrt:  jvo^ltf/.dispjay  their  eloquence  on  some 
subject  stated  for  discussion.  These  discussions  or  games 
were  called  Tensons,  and  genius  often  corruscated  from 
every  part  of  the  debating  hall.  On  a  time  when  the 
the  question  was — "  Whether  it  be  a  greater  grief  to  lose 
a  lover  by  death,  or  by  infidelity,"  Orilla,  a  lady  whose 
husband  was  then  in  Palestine,  was  the  first  speaker. 
She  was  a  beauty  with  an  Arabian  soul,  full  of  nobleness 
and  eloquence.  She  contended  that  it  was  greater  to 
lose  a  lover  by  infidelity  than  by  death,  that  the  disap 
pointment  felt  by  desertion  and  neglect  brought  a  sickness 
to  the  soul,  that  death  in  the  cause  of  honor  never  could; 
that  it  seemed  to  level  the  sufferer  with  the  cause  of  the 
anguish ;  that  it  destroyed  all  confidence,  and  changed 
trusting  fondness  to  cold  and  jealous  suspicions,  giving  a 
new  direction  to  character,  and  with  the  hatred  to  the 
false  one  lessening  our  veneration  to  love  itself.  If  we 
seek  revenge,  said  she,  and  attempt  to  strike  a  blow  for 
injured  honor,  it  often  recoils  on  ourselves.  If  we  are 
tame  in  the  suffering,  we  are  despised ;  if  we  seek  redress 
by  the  laws  of  honor  and  arms,  we  are  feared ;  but  when 
a  gallant  lover  expires,  we  are  sustained  in  our  grief  by 
the  contemplation  of  his  glorious  deeds,  which  Fame 
with  her  trumpet  sounds  through  all  the  corners  of  the 
earth.  When  his  shade  visits  our  bed-side,  it  comes  from 
a  soldier's  grave. 

We  build  monuments  to  cherish  his  memory,  and  feel 


THE  TENSONS.  103 

ourselves  for  ever  in  the  shadow  of  the  hero's  fame.  If  he 
has  left  children,  we  devote  our  days  to  their  instruction, 
and  half  live  again  in  the  growth  and  development 
of  their  virtues,  and  enjoy  the  perfume  of  their  fame  by 
anticipation.  Would  Artemisa  have  been  known,  if  she 
had  not  solaced  her  grief  by  erecting  a  monument  to 
Mausoleus,  her  departed  husband?  Or  would  Judith 
have  delivered  Israel  if  she  had  not  given  her  mind  to 
patriotism  and  piety  in  the  house  of  mourning,  where  she 
had  once  lived  in  the  purest  affection  with  her  departed 
lord.  She  mourned  with  true  dignity,  while  a  neglected 
damsel  mourns  as  one  ashamed  to  avow  her  grief; — she 
is  a  flower,  not  cropped  to  adorn  the  bosom  of  her  lover, 
which  is  beating  with  patriotism  and  chivalry,  but  one 
plucked  to  be  trampled  with  disdain,  under  the  feet 
of  the  despiser  of  her  charms,  o-r  left  to  wither  on  the 
virgin  thorn.  Then  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven,  Orilla 
called  on  all  of  mortal  and  immortal  birth,  to  suffer  her 
lover  to  die  on  the  field  of  glory,  and  rest  in  a  soldier's 
grave,  if  he  could  not  return  from  the  Holy  Land,  but 
never  suffer  him,  ye  gods !  to  be  caught  by  the  snares 
of  a  Damascus  dame,  or  be  charmed  into  infidelity  by 
the  syren  song  of  a  paynim  maid. 

Amanda,  shrinking  as  the  mimosa,  delicate  and  ten 
der  as  the  passion  flower,  with  trembling  accents,  but 
with  high-souled  resolve,  took  the  opposite  side  of  the 
question  ;  and  contended  that  the  spirit  of  resentment 
which  arose  in  a  woman's  breast  at  the  infidelity  of  a 
lover,  cicatrized  at  once  the  wounds  of  the  heart  and 


104  THE   TENSONS. 

aroused  the  energies  of  the  whole  female  character.  From 
such  disappointments  she  contended,  that  a  thousand 
heroines  were  made,  while  often  the  fondness  of  over 
weening  affection  sunk  the  female  to  an  imbecile  depen. 
dence  upon  man.  If  she  loses  her  lover  by  death  in  the 
path  of  his  glory,  she  is  constantly  dwelling  on  his  virtues  ; 
and  her  tongue  never  ceases  to  repeat  the  epitaph  she 
has  written  for  him  on  her  heart. 

She  secludes  herself  from  society,  cut  off  from  all 

that   enchants  life ;    she    wastes   her    beauty    in    tears, 

unseeing  and  unseen;  and  falls  almost  unknown  to  the 

grave ;  while  the  insulted  woman  rises  to  deeds  of  poetry, 

of  song,   or   war,    and   takes    a  rank  in  the   annals  of 

history.     The  Queen,  who  presided  in  the  court  of  Love, 

that  day  balanced  the  arguments,  but  could  not  decide 

the  question,  as  infidelity  would  atfect  some  females  more 

than  the  death  of  their  lovers, — and  others  would  rise  from 

neglect  and  insult  with  new-born  energy   of  character. 

History   informs  that   Count   Altamont,    the  brave,  the 

husband  of  Orilla,  was  in  this  campaign,  slain  in  battle, 

and  that  she  fell  lifeless  at  the  news.     While  Ormond,  the 

fearless   knight,  but   fickle  lover,   left  Amanda   for    an 

Arabian  princess,  and  that  in  three  days  Amanda  married 

Baldwin   of   the  iron  fist  and    brazen  brow,    who   was 

the  witness  of  Ormond's  infidelity. 


THE    LOST    CHILD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

m  And  such  is  human  life  ;  so  gliding  on, 
It  glimmers  like  a  meteor,  and  is  gone; 
Yet  is  the  tale,  brief  though  it  be,  as  strange, 
As  full,  methinks,  of  wild  and  wond'rous  change, 
As  any  that  the  wand'ring  tribes  require, 
Stretched  in  the  desert,  round  their  evening  fire ; 
As  any  sung,  of  old,  in  hall  or  bower. 
To  minstrel  harps  at  midnight's  witching  hour." 

To  portray  the  character  of  our  countrymen  as  they 
were  before  the  revolution,  has  often  been  attempted ;  but 
it  is  impossible  for  any  single  writer  to  give  more  than  a 
partial  profile  or  slight  sketch,  with  some  few  distinct  fea 
tures;  and  perhaps,  before  we  have  an  opportunity  to  do 
justice  to  such  a  subject,  for  want  of  sufficient  leisure,  in 
this  country  almost  every  nice  line  which  distinguished 
our  ancestors  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  will  have  faded 
away.  But  one  thing  will  remain  certain  to  their  descend 
ants,  that  the  spirit  of  independence  was  discovered  in  the 
character  of  the  early  settlers,  as  strongly  as  in  any  suc 
ceeding  generation.  It  required  time  alone  to  nourish  it 
into  a  full  growth.  The  solemn,  pious  manners,  the  sage 
gravity  of  those  known  in  church  or  state,  were  of  such 
example  to  the  young — the  truths  they  learned  from 
infancy  were  so  deeply  instilled  into  their  minds,  that  it 
might  be  said  no  boyhood  was  permitted  in  the  life  of  a 

generation  amongst  the  Puritans.     They  married  young. 
10 


106  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

The  conjugal,  parental,  and  fraternal  ties,  were  affection 
ately  cherished,  and  all  were  busy  and  active  through  life. 
Their  great  exertions  to  cultivate  their  hard  soil,  and  at 
the  same  time,  their  own  minds,  with  the  martial  feeling 
produced  by  constant  dangers  of  attack  from  a  powerful 
and  an  insidious  foe,  gave  an  energy  and  intelligence  to 
this  race  of  men,  far  superior  to  the  early  settlers  of  any 
other  country.  Their  matrimonial  connections,  formed  in 
youth,  grew  out  of  affection,  not  of  interest ;  and  their  prin 
ciples,  although  they  gave  a  solemn  and  staid  air  to  their 
manners,  had  in  them  the  essence  of  virtue.  Their  situ 
ation  was  singular  and  romantic.  Three  generations  often 
went  to  the  field  of  battle  together,  and  fought  side  by  side, 
and  braver  men  no  country  could  ever  boast.  Most  of 
their  deeds  are  left  to  the  scanty  annals  of  that  age, — 
while  a  few  of  them  may  be  traced  through  the  memories 
of  the  aged,  by  any  one  acquainted  with  the  monuments 
and  mile-stones  set  up  by  the  first  travellers.  The  follow- 
ing  tale  is  intended  to  illustrate  a  few  of  these  traits  of 
New-England  character,  which  are  yet  in  the  memory  of 
man. 

JOHN  ELLIOT  lived  in  a  seaport  town  in  the  province 
of  Massachusetts  Bay,  near  the  mouth  of  the  river  Merri- 
mack.  He  was  bred  to  the  seas,  and  became  distinguish 
ed  for  his  skill  as  a  mariner,  and  accuracy  as  a  navigator 
— the  science  of  navigation  being,  at  that  time,  but  par 
tially  understood  by  those  who  ventured  to  traverse  the 
ocean  from  these  shores.  He  had  married  young,  and  in 
1757  had  several  children.  Talents  allied  to  virtue,  in 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  107 

every  state  of  society,  have  their  influence.  Capt.  Elliot 
was  known  by  many  of  the  officers  of  the  British  army  and 
navy ;  and  when  Maj.  R.  Rogers  had  orders  to  raise  four 
companies  of  rangers  from  New-England,  each  to  consist 
of  one  hundred  privates,  two  lieutenants,  one  ensign  and 
four  Serjeants,  as  also  one  company  of  friendly  Indians  for 
the  same  service,  Capt.  Elliot  was  offered  the  command  of 
one  of  the  companies,  and  accepted  it,  at  least  for  a  cam 
paign  or  two ;  and  such  was  his  reputation,  that  the  whole 
number  of  his  company  was  completed  in  a  few  days,  and 
set  off  for  the  great  western  waters.  He  had  served  in  one 
campaign  before,  when  quite  young,  as  a  subaltern  officer. 
At  this  time,  he  discovered  no  small  share  of  talent  and 
bravery ;  but  nothing  particular  marked  the  transactions  of 
that  season.  A  trifling  incident,  however,  occurred,  which, 
from  its  subsequent  effects  on  his  fortunes,  it  may  be  pro- 
per  to  mention.  While  walking  one  morning  on  the  banks 
of  a  rapid  river,  near  the  place  of  his  encampment,  for 
recreation,  as  the  enemy  were  supposed  to  be  at  a  distance, 
Lieut.  Elliot  (this  was  his  station  in  the  army)  saw  an  In- 
dian  child  playing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream.  He 
was  skipping  stones  on  the  apparently  smooth  eddy  of  wa 
ter  ;  but  just  below  the  eddy,  the  current  was  turbid  and 
furious.  Running  to  give  his  efforts  a  more  manly  display, 
the  little  urchin  fell  from  the  bank,  and  was  instantly  car 
ried  down  the  stream.  Elliot  was  a  father,  and  thought 
nothing  of  an  enemy  at  such  a  time,  but  leaped  into  the 
flood,  and  after  a  severe  struggle,  succeeded  in  bringing 
the  child  to  the  shore.  The  mother  of  the  boy  had  heard 


108  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

his  screams  for  succor,  and  from  the  bank  witnessed  the 
efforts  of  the  white  man  in  rescuing  her  child.  A  flag  of 
truce  was  raised  for  the  Indians  to  cross  the  stream,  but 
no  one  ventured  but  the  Indian  woman.  What  is  there  a 
mother  will  not  dare  for  her  offspring  ?  She  leaped  into  a 
canoe,  and  paddled  across  without  apprehension.  The  lad 
was  soothed  by  the  caresses  of  his  deliverer ;  and  when 
clothes  were  brought  for  an  exchange  of  the  wet  garments 
of  Lieut.  Elliot,  the  boy  was  quite  fascinated  with  a  ban 
dana  handkerchief,  which  was  to  supply  the  place  of  the 
wet  stock  of  the  officer.  It  was  instantly  presented  to  him, 
and  with  it,  other  trinkets  from  those  around,  the  attend 
ants  of  Lieut.  Elliot.  The  woman  took  her  child,  arid  in 
a  few  words  of  broken  French  and  English,  expressed  the 
feelings  of  her  heart.  This  occurrence  passed  off,  and 
was  hardly  thought  of  again  by  Elliot  or  his  companions. 
He  had  not  even  inquired  the  name  or  rank  of  the  woman, 
but  thought,  from  the  air  and  manner  she  assumed,  and 
the  respect  with  which  she  was  treated  by  the  Indians  who 
were  waiting  her  return,  that  she  must  have  been  of  some 
consequence  amongst  them. 

The  order  for  raising  the  companies  was  dated  the 
llth  of  January,  1758;  and  in  February,  the  several  corps 
were  at  their  posts,  having  travelled  most  of  the  way 
through  the  woods,  on  snow-shoes.  This  body  of  men  was 
taken  from  the  bravest  and  hardiest  of  the  sons  of  New- 
England.  They  were  to  be  used  for  every  service,  and 
range  every  part  of  the  line  of  defence  on  the  frontiers ;  they 
must  have  been  accustomed  to  carry  great  burthens,  in 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  109 

packs  or  on  sledges, — to  shoot  with  the  accuracy  of  a  rifle 
corps,  and  lie  on  the  snow  as  a  common  bed.  On  the  llth 
of  March  of  that  year,  Maj.  Rogers  was  ordered  to  march 
with  his  men,  to  find  the  enemy  and  fight  them.  Many  of 
the  rangers  had  not  arrived,  and  others  were  dispersed  on 
duty.  This  order  appeared  singular  to  these  brave  men, 
as  it  was  generally  understood  that  the  enemy  was  in  large 
force  at  no  great  distance  ;  but  their  duty  was  to  obey,  and 
their  business  to  die,  when  their  country  required  the 
sacrifice.  On  this  day,  Maj.  Rogers  proceeded  with  his 
rangers  as  far  as  the  first  narrows  on  Lake  George,  and 
encamped  that  evening  on  the  east  side  of  the  lake.  The 
troops  were  all  night  on  the  watch  for  the  enemy.  On  the 
12th,  the  forces  inarched  at  sunrise,  on  the  ice  of  the  lake, 
but  soon  went  on  shore,  and  were  concealed  until  night, 
for  fear  of  being  discovered  by  the  enemy.  There  were 
many  circumstances  observed,  going  to  show  that  they 
were  not  far  distant.  The  Americans  were  on  the  west 
side  of  the  lake,  and  after  dark  they  took  the  ice  again, 
and  proceeded  down  the  lake.  Several  swift  skaters  were 
sent  to  reconnoitre.  On  the  13th,  Rogers  and  his  men 
proceeded  on  snow-shoes,  still  on  the  west  side  of  the  lake, 
the  snow  being  at  least  four  feet  deep.  They  met  a  body 
of  about  one  hundred  Indians,  and  putting  off  their  packs, 
the  rangers  prepared  for  battle.  These  Indians  were 
supposed  to  be  the  whole  body  of  the  enemy,  and  these 
were  nothing  in  the  eyes  of  the  rangers.  Forty  of  the 
enemy  were  killed  in  a  few  minutes,  and  the  rest  fled. 

Rogers  supposed  he  had  gained  a  complete  victory,  but  the 

10* 


110  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

mistake  was  soon  discovered ;  six  hundred  Indians  and 
Canadians  were  instantly  upon  this  little  band.  The  con 
test  was  tremendous ;  skill  and  valor  were  opposed  to  num 
bers;  fifty  of  the  rangers  fell,  the  rest  retreated  in  good 
order ;  like  the  band  of  Leonidas,  the  rangers  could  die, 
but  could  not  be  conquered.  Seizing  with  wonderful  skill 
the  advantage  of  ground,  the  rangers  received  the  enemy 
so  warmly,  that  they  retreated  three  times  in  disorder. 
The  attack  was  again  and  again  renewed  ;  the  assailants 
and  assailed  were  often  intermingled,  and  fought  hand  to 
hand.  Had  they  lived  in  the  days  of  poesy,  such  deeds, 
like  those  of  the  heroes  of  Homer,  would  have  been  im 
mortalized  in  song.  After  efforts  of  incredible  valor,  u 
retreat  was  ordered,  but  few  remained  to  avail  themselves 
of  this  chance  of  escape.  The  few  who  returned  to  the 
lake  were  met  by  Capt.  Stark, — afterwards  the  hero  of 
Bunker  Hill  and  of  Bennington, — at  Hoop  Island,  six  miles 
north  of  Fort  William  Henry,  and  there  all  remained  that 
night.  Stark  had  made  his  way  there  first,  after  having 
fought  most  valiantly  that  day.  Rogers,  with  the  remnant 
of  his  forces,  arrived  at  Fort  Edward  on  the  15th.  The 
enemy  counted  seven  hundred, — they  lost  more  men  than 
the  Rangers  numbered.  If  Rogers  had  been  in  command 
of  his  full  corps,  he  would  have  given  a  different  account 
of  the  enemy.  Those  brave  fellows  have  no  monument, 
not  a  simple  stone  marks  the  place  of  their  interment.  So 
perished  the  brave. 

Capt.  Elliot  and  his  men  fought  with  desperate  energy  ; 
but  finding  all  efforts  in  vain,  his  ammunition  exhausted, 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  Ill 

and  most  of  his  brave  companions  dead,  he  entered  into  a 
treaty  with  the  Indians.  They  promised  to  take  their 
prisoners  to  Montreal,  and  there  receive  a  ransom  of  five 
times  the  bounty  given  for  scalps,  for  each  man.  He 
hoped,  by  promising  so  much  for  each  person's  ransom,  to 
keep  the  Indians  quiet,  until  they  should  reach  Montreal 
or  Quebec.  At  these  places,  Capt.  Elliot  thought  he  could 
procure  funds  to  pay  for  the  redemption  of  himself  and 
men.  Montcalm,  the  commander  in  chief  of  the  French 
forces,  was  distinguished  for  humanity  as  well  as  valor ; 
and  it  was  said,  was  encouraging  the  Indians  to  bring  in 
prisoners  for  redemption,  rather  than  scalps  for  bounties ; 
and  this  rumor  seemed  to  be  rendered  probable,  from  the 
Indians  being  so  willing,  when  their  forces  were  so  large, 
to  enter  into  a  treaty, — which  was  an  unusual  thing  for 
them  on  the  battle-ground. 

A  short  time  afterwards,  in  their  march  to  Montreal, 
the  savages  quarrelled  among  themselves,  about  the  divi 
sion  of  the  sum  to  be  received  for  the  ransom  ;  some  claim 
ed  what  others  thought  they  had  no  right  to  have ;  and  in 
a  state  of  inebriation  and  fury,  determined  on  murdering 
the  whole  of  their  prisoners,  and  no  prayers,  entreaties,  or 
offers  of  large  sums  at  Montreal,  could  dissuade  them  from 
this  horrid  intention.  The  work  of  destruction  began,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  all  were  tomahawked  or  hewn  to  pieces 
and  scalped,  excepting  Capt.  Elliot,  who  at  the  moment 
the  bloody  scene  began,  made  a  furious  attempt  to  knock 
down  his  guard,  and  so  far  succeeded  as  to  make  his  es 
cape,  with  but  little  injury  to  himself.  He  made  his  way 


112  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

for  a  swamp,  the  Indians  following  him,  but  their  dog? 
were  gone  with  a  hunting  party,  and  the  pursuers  lost  sight 
of  him ;  but  soon  after  sunrise  the  next  morning,  the  hun 
ters  coming  in,  he  was  pursued  and  overtaken.  He  found 
it  was  in  vain  to  make  any  resistance,  and  was  quietly  led 
back  to  the  camp.  He  thought  it  possible  that  the  Indians 
had  drank  their  rum  the  night  before,  and  might  be  more 
reasonable  at  this  moment ;  this  was  a  vain  hope.  They 
held  a  consultation,  and  decided  to  continue  the  work,  and 
to  murder  him  in  all  the  forms  of  savage  barbarity,  when 
the  moon  should  rise  that  night ;  such  forms  as  they  had 
used  in  the  death  of  some  rival  chief,  who  had  fallen  into 
their  hands  and  had  found  their  vengeance.  Capt.  Elliot, 
like  the  son  of  Alnomack,  was  bound  fast  during  the  day, 
without  any  thing  of  food  or  drink.  The  shades  of  the 
evening  came,  and  the  hour  of  death  was  at  hand.  The 
yell,  announcing  the  sacrifice,  a  sort  of  invocation  to  the 
spirit  of  revenge,  was  set  up.  The  priests,  or  the  fiends 
of  revenge,  led  the  victim  to  a  large  tree,  and  after  strip 
ping  him  nearly  naked,  bound  him  to  it,  and  smeared  him 
all  over  with  turpentine,  taken  from  the  pines  around  them ; 
then  strewed  a  large  quantity  of  birch  bark  around,  at  a 
small  distance  from  him,  and  splitting  some  pitch-wood 
with  their  hatchets,  thrust  the  splinters  through  the  fleshy 
parts  of  his  body  and  limbs,  then  strewed  other  small  pieces 
of  the  same  wood  among  the  birch  bark.  The  pile  was  in  a 
circle  around  him,  a  little  higher  than  his  head.  Over  these 
combustibles  were  thrown  green  boughs,  in  some  degree 
to  stop  the  progress  of  the  flames,  that  he  might  linger 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  113 

longer  in  torments,  for  their  hellish  sport.  Before  these 
ceremonies  were  over,  the  moon  rose  clear  and  beautiful 
in  a  cloudless  sky.  The  Indians  collected  rapidly  from 
every  quarter,  for  the  death  yell  had  been  heard  through 
the  surrounding  forest.  Capt.  Elliot  summoned  his  forti 
tude  for  the  awful  moment ;  he  looked  on  the  moon  and 
stars  as  objects  which  he  was  to  see  no  more  for  ever. 
The  thoughts  of  his  wife  and  children  came  over  him,  and 
a  sickness  seized  his  heart ;  a  sigh  broke  from  his  lips,  but 
no  tear-drop  wet  his  eye. 

The  fire  was  kindled  on  the  outer  verge  of  the  circle, 
and  the  dance  had  begun.  The  birch  bark  was  crackling 
and  curling  with  the  blaze  ;  the  victim  bit  his  lips  and 
closed  his  eyes  to  commune  only  with  his  Saviour  in  his 
agony.  At  this  instant,  a  shriek  of  distress  reached  his 
ear,  and  a  female  was  seen,  with  desperate  energy  com 
batting  the  flames  with  her  naked  hands ;  her  hair  and 
her  garments  were  again  and  again  enveloped  with  fire  ; 
in  a  few  seconds  others  came  to  her  assistance — the 
burning  materials  were  scattered,  and  little  Monegan  was 
in  the  arms  of  his  deliverer,  and  Monongahela,  his 
mother,  burnt  as  she  was,  continued  shouting  and  leaping 
for  joy.  In  the  wildest  note  of  gratitude  she  told  the 
story  of  the  delivery  of  her  son  from  the  dash  of  the 
torrent.  Her  eloquence  was  irresistible — the  prisoner  was 
released,  and  savage  revenge  was  at  once  changed  to 
gratitude  :  this  is  the  disposition  of  these  children  of  the 
forest.  Monongahela  was  the  wife  of  a  chief,  then  on  a 
hunting  party ;  by  meeting  some  straggling  Indians,  she 


114  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

learnt  the  captivity  of  Capt.  Elliot,  and  had  hastened  with 
a  quantity  of  otter  skins  to  buy  him.  She  afterwards 
often  told  him,  that  on  the  last  day  of  her  journey,  she 
had  travelled  harder  than  before,  for  the  Great  Spirit 
seemed  to  whisper  to  her,  that  some  mischief  would 
happen  to  the  preserver  of  her  child,  if  she  did  not  hurry 
on;  but  being  much  fatigued,  she,  with  those  in  her  train, 
had  encamped  for  the  night  at  about  a  mile  or  two  distant 
from  this  place,  when  the  well  known  death  note  reached 
her  ear,  at  the  rising  of  the  moon,  and  she  flew  to  the 
place  with  a  presentiment  of  his  danger. 

It  required  some  time  to  heal  the  burns  and  wounds 
Capt.  Elliot  had  received,  and  the  Indians  were  unwilling 
to  let  him  leave  them  at  once;  but  about  mid-summer, 
Monongahela  and  her  husband,  a  chief  of  some  influence 
amongst  his  tribe,  consented  that  he  should  return  home, 
as  they  found  he  could  not  be  happy  away  from  his  family. 
Paeton,  the  chief,  with  his  wife,  and  little  Monegan, 
accompanied  Capt.  Elliot  on  his  journey  for  several  days' 
march,  to  guard  him  from  other  tribes  of  Indians  if  they 
should  cross  his  path.  The  chief  furnished  the  prisoner 
with  a  Canadian  pony,  a  supply  of  parched  corn,  and 
some  dried  hams  of  deer,  and  after  taking  an  affectionate 
farewell  of  him,  departed  for  Montreal ;  and  Capt.  Elliot 
for  his  native  place.  The  travelling  in  that  day,  was  bad, 
and  it  was  a  long  and  wearisome  journey  from  the  lakes  to 
the  Atlantic.  As  he  approached  within  sixty  or  seventy 
miles  of  his  own  town,  he  hurried  his  little  animal  until 
he  was  nearly  exhausted  with  fatigue ;  and  when  within 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  115 

five  miles  of  his  dwelling,  the  pony  sunk  under  his 
load,  which,  however,  was  only  a  pack-saddle  and  the 
remaining  provisions,  with  a  few  skins  the  Indians  had 
given  him  to  sell,  on  the  way,  if  necessary,  for  his  sup 
port  ;  they  could  raise  but  a  few  shillings  in  money  for 
him.  These  were  all  the  animal  had  to  carry,  Capt.  Elliot 
having  walked  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  leading  little 
Monegan,  the  name  he  gave  his  pony,  in  honor  of  the 
Indian  lad,  now  become  so  dear  to  him.  It  was  late  in 
the  evening  ;  the  people  on  the  road  were  in  bed,  and  no 
one  was  with  him  to  cheer  his  spirits  ;  but  he  was  decided 
on  reaching  home  that  night  if  possible,  and  therefore 
turned  the  pony  into  the  first  pasture  on  the  road-side, 
after  he  had  tired  down,  and  putting  his  saddle,  skins,  etc. 
into  the  nearest  barn,  set  forward  for  his  home.  In  the 
solemn  hour  of  night,  when  all  the  farmers  were  in  sound 
sleep,  he  was  startled  at  the  sound  of  distant  cannon, 
several  times  repeated  in  quick  succession,  and  seeming 
to  come  from  the  quarter  to  which  he  was  going.  In  that 
state  of  agitation,  which  is  so  natural  to  every  feeling 
heart,  as  one  draws  near  home  after  a  long  absence, 
Capt.  Elliot  entered  the  borders  of  his  native  town ;  he 
saw  a  few  men  and  several  boys  with  them,  and  two 
or  three  half  dressed  females,  in  the  train ;  the  men  had 
a  drum  which  they  now  and  then  beat  as  they  marched 
on.  Capt.  Elliot  inquired  the  cause  of  this  unusual 
excitement  in  a  place  remarkable  for  its  stillness,  and  was 
particularly  struck  with  surprise  when  he  recollected  that 
it  was  Sunday  evening ;  and  in  that  place  the  Sabbath  was 


116  THE   LOST   CHILD. 

kept  with  almost  Jewish  strictness.  The  answer  was, 
a  child  is  lost ;  many  fear,  as  he  lived  near  the  river,  that 
the  child  is  drowned.  The  thought  of  his  family  checked 
his  utterance,  and  he  could  not  assume  sufficient  courage 
to  proceed  in  his  inquiries ;  but  one  of  the  females 
instantly,  in  sobs  of  grief,  said,  "  It  is  the  widow  Elliot's 
child  that  is  lost ;  the  widow  of  Capt.  Elliot,  who  was 
killed  by  the  Indians  in  Canada,  last  winter."  A  chill  of 
indescribable  horror  ran  through  every  vein,  and  stopt  the 
pulsations  of  his  heart ;  but  he  was  a  ranger,  and  like 
the  Spartan  had  learnt  to  bear  agony  without  a  visible 
sign  of  pain  or  suffering.  The  female  continued — "  The 
widow  is  in  a  state  of  distraction  at  the  loss  of  her  Iktle 
boy,  so  soon  after  the  death  of  his  father,  who  had  his 
tongue  cut  out,  and  his  eyes  put  out,  and  then  scalped 
and  burnt  to  death  by  the  horrid  Indians.  All  the  town 
are  taking  on  with  the  widow,  seeing  she  had  met  with 
such  a  desperate  loss  before,  in  losing  her  husband,  who 
was  a  very  good  man.  Oh !  what  a  shocking  death  he 
died  !"  Capt.  Elliot  made  no  reply.  The  female  continu 
ed — "  You  could  not  have  known  Capt.  Elliot  and  his  wife, 
or  you  would  take  on  too." — He  followed  the  group  to  the 
door  of  his  own  house,  which  was  filled  and  surrounded 
by  weeping  neighbors ;  but  being  dressed  in  a  sort  of 
Indian  garb,  with  the  remnants  of  a  fur  cap  on  his  head, 
a  little  out  of  season  for  a  seaport  town,  and  it  being 
supposed  Capt.  Elliot  was  dead,  his  person  was  not 
discovered.  They  considered  the  father  of  the  lost  child 
as  a  straggler  the  excitement  had  brought  to  the  place 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  117 

with  others.  He  looked  into  his  barn,  walked  through 
his  garden,  heard  the  shrieks  of  his  wife,  but  trembled  at 
the  probable  effect  of  coming  suddenly  upon  his  wife  and 
friends  in  such  a  melancholy  moment,  and  was  for  some 
time  in  a  state  of  indecision.  At  length,  he  thought  he 
heard  the  well  known  voice  of  his  clergyman  praying  with 
his  wife,  and  he  waited  until  the  good  man  had  adminis 
tered  what  consolation  he  had  to  offer  and  had  come  out 
of  the  house  to  return  home.  Capt.  Elliot  walked  along 
side  of  the  priest,  and  entering  into  conversation  with 
him,  soon  made  himself  known,  and  his  pastor  approved 
of  the  course  he  had  pursued,  and  invited  him  to  the 
parsonage  house,  for  the  remainder  of  the  night.  It  was 
there  determined  to  make  known  the  story  to  Capt. 
Elliot's  father  and  his  brothers,  in  the  morning,  but  to 
proceed  in  a  more  cautious  manner  with  regard  to  his 
wife.  They  were  afraid  if  the  boy  was  found  in  the 
morning,  and  the  news  of  her  husband's  return  reached 
her  at  the  same  time,  the  transition  from  grief  to  joy 
would  be  too  great  for  her  to  bear.  But  the  child  was 
not  found,  and  the  clergyman  with  great  delicacy  prepared 
her  to  hear  of  her  husband's  return.  He  first  intimated 
that  he  might  be  still  alive.  Strange  things  had  happened 
in  this  world,  he  said,  and  Capt.  Elliot  might  yet  be  living 
and  well,  and  might  return  to  her  again  to  comfort  her. 
Capt.  Stark  brought  the  news  too  particularly,  she  replied, 
for  me  ever  to  indulge  a  hope  of  that  nature ;  and  then 
fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  grief,  and  before  the  clergyman 

could  say   a  word,  went  through  all  the  details  of  his 
11 


118  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

dreadful  death.  The  blood,  the  fire,  the  savages  were 
directly  before  her.  The  good  man  waited  until  her 
frenzy  had  in  some  measure  passed,  and  then  assured  her 
that  a  man  resembling  Capt.  Elliot  had  made  his  escape 
from  the  Indians,  and  for  his  part  he  entertained  strong 
hopes  of  his  safety.  He  went  on  to  more  particular  circum 
stances,  such  as  seemed  to  excite  a  slight  hope  even 
in  her  mind,  that  there  might  be  something  in  the  story. 
He  then  left  her  to  make  some  further  inquiries,  and 
returned  again  with  some  additional  facts;  and  in  the 
mean  time,  he  had  spread  the  rumor  about  town,  and 
all  the  gossips  had  passed  them  through  several  editions, 
some  of  which  had  come  to  the  ears  of  Mrs.  Elliot  before 
the  good  man  had  returned ;  and  on  the  third  visit  he 
had  so  far  braced  her  nerves  as  to  tell  her  that  her 
husband  was  at  home  and  in  good  health. 

During  the  day,  her  mind  often  wandered.  She 
thought  God  had  made  an  exchange,  and  had  taken  her 
child  and  given  her  her  husband  only  in  a  dream.  The 
next  day,  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Whitefield,  the  celebrated 
preacher  from  England,  but  last  from  the  State  of  Georgia, 
was  announced.  He  had  made  a  great  impression  on  the 
minds  of  the  people  in  every  part  of  the  country  through 
which  he  had  travelled.  Awakenings,  revivals,  and 
serious  inquiries,  all  followed  in  his  train.  He  understood 
human  nature  well.  He  possessed  insinuating  manners, 
a  considerable  share  of  intelligence,  had  a  sweet  and 
powerful  voice,  related  anecdotes  with  great  skill,  and 
was,  no  doubt,  zealously  engaged  in  his  great  cause. 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  119 

Field  preaching,  now  so  common,  was  then  a  great  novelty. 
By  a  careful  management  of  his  voice,  he  was  enabled  to 
preach  to  thousands  in  the  open  air.  This  man,  hearing 
of  the  late  extraordinary  circumstances  of  the  loss  of  Capt. 
Elliot's  child,  and  that  officer's  adventures,  proposed  a 
meeting  in  the  open  air,  on  the  next  afternoon.  He 
selected  a  ship-yard  within  a  short  distance  of  Capt. 
Elliot's  house,  as  a  proper  place  for  his  purpose.  In  it 
were  scattered  timbers,  and  the  whole  ground  was  an 
amphitheatre,  bounded  by  wharves,  stores, dwelling-houses, 
and  the  river.  Near  this  place  it  was  supposed  the  child 
of  Capt.  Elliot  was  drowned,  having  fallen  from  some 
spars  afloat ;  for  he  was  last  seen  about  there.  The  news  of 
Whitefield's  arrival  rapidly  spread  in  the  adjacent  towns. 
M  tny  had  followed  him,  and  others  were  rapidly  arriving, 
to  hang  upon  the  accents  of  the  pious  man,  and  une 
qualled  orator.  Early  in  the  afternoon,  all  work  was 
suspended  in  the  ship-yard,  and  in  fact  throughout  the 
town ;  and  such  accommodations  as  could  readily  be 
made,  were  attended  to.  Thousands  were  gathered  to 
the  spot.  The  preacher  arrived,  and  took  his  stand  on 
the  staging  of  an  unfinished  vessel.  She  was  but  partly 
planked ;  and  those  hanging  on  the  several  parts  of  her, 
as  well  as  all  around,  could  hear  the  slightest  word  uttered 
by  the  speaker.  He  commenced  with  a  fervent  and 
impressive  prayer ;  then  took  for  his  text — And  the  sea 
shall  give  up  his  dead.  His  sermon  was  unlike  the 
preaching  of  the  times,  which  consisted  of  elaborate 
discussions  on  some  point  of  faith  or  doctrine,  divided 


120  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

into  general  heads,  and  then  into  minor  divisions;  with 
endless  inferences,  improvements,  and  applications. 
Whitefield  made  a  direct  appeal  to  their  hearts.  He 
touched  upon  the  greatness  of  the  love  of  God  to  fallen 
man,  shown  in  the  prophecies,  and  in  the  coming  of  the 
Saviour.  He  dwelt  upon  the  joys  of  heaven,  and  upon 
the  miseries  of  human  life,  and  urged  the  necessity 
of  regeneration  to  obtain  those  joys,  a  glimpse  of  which 
only  could  be  given,  for  eye  had  not  seen  them,  nor 
ear  heard.  In  remarking  upon  the  vicissitudes  and 
calamities  of  this  vain  world,  he  succinctly  told  the  story 
of  Capt.  Elliot's  sufferings.  It  was  the  same  Divine 
Being  he  said  that  saved  him,  in  that  perilous  moment, 
that  walked  as  the  fourth  in  the  furnace  of  old,  to  save 
the  others  from  the  devouring  flames,  and  to  show  the 
power  of  God  in  governing  the  events  of  the  world. 
Until  this  moment,  it  was  not  known  to  all  that  Capt. 
Elliot  had  passed  through  such  perils,  and  the  audience 
hung  upon  the  preacher's  lips  with  wonder.  He  passed 
from  the  safety  of  the  father  to  the  death  of  the  child, 
and  described  the  lovely  innocent,  with  his  sweet  smiles 
and  lisping  accents,  plunged  at  once  into  a  watery  grave ; 
then  turning  towards  the  ocean,  he  exclaimed,  "  and  ye 
proud  waves  shall  give  up  your  dead  ;  the  Lord  God  hath 
said  it.  In  the  days  of  Pagan  darkness  and  idolatry  ye 
were  represented  as  a  monster  moaning  at  every  surge  for 
something  to  devour !  Your  insatiable  jaws  were  for  ever 
extended  to  swallow  all  living  things ;  Pharoah's  proud 
host,  with  countless  navies,  have  been  devoured  by  you  ; 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  121 

out  Christ  has  put  his  foot  upon  the  waters  and  declared, 
your  reign  shall  end,  and  the  dead  shall  rise.  All  material 
things  shall  expire,  but  the  soul  is  beyond  the  reach 
of  death.  Dear  mourners,  you  shall  see  your  lovely 
infant  again,  in  the  radiant  beauty  of  a  coming  angel. 
Jesus  has  folded  him  in  his  arms,  and  he  is  now  reposing 
on  his  Redeemer's  breast.  The  corse  of  your  infant 
is  sunk  in  the  ocean,  and  carried  down  by  the  tide.  The 
tide  of  time  is  now,  at  this  very  instant,  sweeping  us  all 
into  the  ocean  of  eternity.  Are  you  ready  ?  Have  you 
made  your  peace  with  God  ?  To-morrow  it  may  be  too 
late.  Jesus  is  now  standing  on  this  shore,  and  offering 
you  his  redeeming  love.  A  general  groan  was  heard 
from  the  multitude,  sobs  and  cries  followed  ;  the  awaken- 
ing  had  begun. 


CHAPTER    II. 

l:  Some  source  of  consolation  from  above, 
Secret  refreshings,  that  repair  her  strength, 
And  fainting  spirits  uphola." 

\VmTEFiELDvwas  too  wise  not  to  improve  this  golden 
opportunity  of  calling  sinners  to  repentance  ;  and  day  after 
day,  at  morning,  noon,  and  evening  tide,  he  poured  out  the 
stores  of  his  eloquence,  until  most  of  his  audience  were 
completely  under  his  control.  His  reasonings  were  not 
always  very  profound  to  prove  his  doctrines,  but  his  illus 
trations  were  drawn  from  nature,  and  easily  understood  by 

the  most  illiterate  of  his  hearers,  and  attracted  the  atten- 
11* 


122  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

tion  of  the  most  enlightened.  For  instance,  speaking  of 
eternity,  he  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  pointing  to  miles 
of  sand  banks  in  view,  where  nature  had  sported  from  cre 
ation  with  her  countless  atoms,  and  said, — "  Dear  hearers, 
if  a  little  bird  was  to  come  once  in  a  thousand  years  and 
take  off  in  his  bill  one  grain  of  sand  at  a  visit,  in  time  all 
those  great  mounds  would  be  gone ;  and  if  the  whole  mass 
was  to  be  multiplied  by  the  grains  it  contains,  and  the 
same  means  were  used  to  convey  away  the  whole  number 
of  masses,  in  time  it  would  all  be  gone ;  but  at  the  end,  if 
the  process  was  carried  on  in  eternity,  eternity  would  have 
but  just  begun,  never  to  end.  How  can  you  then,"  said 
the  solemn  preacher,  "for  the  momentary  gratification  of 
your  appetites  in  sin,  jeopardize  your  souls  for  eternity  ?"- 
One  after  another,  as  we  have  seen  them  in  latter  days, 
cried  out,  the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  and  then  fell  into 
a  paroxysm  of  horror  at  the  danger  of  hell-fire,  and  repeat 
ed  the  groans  and  cries  until  nature  was  exhausted,  and 
the  sufferer  at  last  fell  into  a  syncope  and  was  stretched 
lifeless  on  the  ground.  This  was  hailed  as  a  glorious 
omen,  and  called  the  strivings  of  the  Spirit  with  the  sinful 
creature.  Mrs.  Elliot,  as  frequent  allusions  were  made  to 
her  departed  child,  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  she,  though 
a  woman  of  great  good  sense,  was  overcome,  and  fell  with 
the  rest.  Her  husband,  who  had  heard  all,  and  perhaps 
was  touched,  but  not  moved,  took  her  up  and  carried  her 
home,  a  short  distance,  in  his  arms,  and  placed  her  where 
the  air  might  pass  freely  over  her,  thinking  it  only  a  faint 
ing  fit.  She  was  a  long  while  in  the  same  state,  and  there 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  123 

was  a  seeming  reluctance  amongst  those  good  women  who 
came  to  her  attendance,  to  prescribe  or  administer  for  her 
relief,  as  they  believed  that  she  was  in  a  trance,  and  when 
she  came  out  of  it  would  bear  testimony  to  the  mercy  of 
God.  After  a  painful  lapse  of  time,  life  and  motion  slowly 
returned,  and  >h«-  opened  her  eyes  again  upon  the  world; 
and  her  senses,  which  seemed  to  have  fled  for  ever,  return 
ed,  but  all  her  agony  was  gone,  and  a  soft  serenity  had 
taken  its  place.  Her  eye  was  no  longer  tearless  and  dry 
with  distress,  but  was  gently  moistened,  more  with  affec 
tion  than  trouble.  The  tone  of  her  voice  had  entirely 
changed,  and  she  spake  as  one  perfectly  happy.  As  soon 
as  her  strength  would  admit,  she  arose,  caressed  her  friends, 
and  spoke  of  her  lost  child  with  composure,  and  often  with 
a  smile.  On  a  visit  from  Whitefield,  who  was  a  shrewd 
observer  of  the  operations  of  the  mind,  he  gently  asked 
her  if  she  had  received  assurances  of  the  true  state  of  her 
soul,  or  any  consolation  from  a  spiritual  source?  If  she 
had,  he  said,  it  was  her  duty  to  speak  of  it,  for  the  edifica 
tion  of  others, — God  might  make  her  an  instrument  to 
bring  others  to  salvation.  She  looked  at  her  husband,  as 
if  to  ask  liberty  to  speak,  and  he,  delighted  to  find  the 
change,  from  whatever  cause  it  might  spring,  readily  gave 
his  consent  that  she  should  tell  the  cause  of  so  sudden  an 
alteration.  In  a  composed  and  suppressed  tone,  she  said,( 
"  I  have  been  in  a  trance,  and  God  has  been  kind  to  me ; 
and  I  rejoice  to  declare  his  mercies.  I  thought  my  soul  i/  /) 
had  been  separated  by  death  from  its  frail  tabernacle  of 
the  flesh,  and  that  I  stood  a  disembodied  spirit,  trembling 


124  THE   LOST   CHILD. 

on  the  confines  of  the  world  of  spirits,  dreading  to  com 
mence  my  journey  into  an  unknown  region,  when  a  being, 
more  lovely  than  any  thing  in  life,  said,  in  the  sweetest 
manner,  '  Fear  not,  child  of  sorrow,  I  am  sent  as  your  in 
terpreter,  consoler  and  guide — follow  me.'  I  did,  and  we 
seemed  to  travel  a  long  way,  as  I  have  in  a  dream,  without 
my  precisely  knowing  how  we  went.  At  length,  as  we 
moved  along,  a  glimmering  light  caught  my  eye,  resem 
bling  the  midnight  sky  when  a  building  is  burning  at  a 
distance,  and  is  about  sinking  to  the  earth.  Distant 
moans  at  first  reached  us,  and  then  louder  cries  were 
heard,  and  at  length  terrific  screams  of  agony  and  despair 
assailed  us  on  all  sides.  I  tried  to  cover  my  eyes  and  ears 
with  my  hands,  but  I  found  I  had  neither  hands  or  eyes  or 
ears,  and  I  could  not  tell  how  I  could  see  or  hear  or  know 
any  thing.  I  was  affrighted  as  much  at  myself  as  at 
other  things.  I  seemed  to  cling  to  my  guide,  but  how  I 
know  not,  and  he  conveyed  me  through  the  scenes  of 
horror  in  safety.  A  sense  of  pity  and  commiseration 
came  over  me,  and  my  heart  seemed  to  beat  when  there 
was  no  heart  there.  A  purer  light,  without  that  fearful 
redness,  seemed  to  dawn  upon  us.  The  air  was  fresh 
and  balmy.  Songs  of  praise,  and  the  sweetest  music 
charmed  me,  as  we  passed  along.  I  wanted  to  stay  for 
ever  in  this  spot,  where  I  could  see  suns  and  stars  and 
other  worlds  moving  beneath  me,  and  immortal  beings 
were  gazing  on  them  in  ecstacy.  Their  bright  and  shin 
ing  countenances  were  often  turned  on  me  with  a  smile  of 
welcome.  Millions  were  singing  hosannas  to  the  Lamb 


LOST    CHILD.  125 

that  was  slain  for  the  sins  of  the  world, — these  were  the 
just  made  perfect.  Angels  and  archangels,  and  cherubim 
and  seraphim,  \\vro  -tnkm_^  their  harps,  and  crying  Holy, 
holy,  holy  is  the  Redeemer  of  the  world.  I  tried  to  join 
my  feeble  voice,  but  could  not,  with  them;"  and  turning  to 
the  priest,  she  said,  '*  Oh  !  all  that  you  have  ever  said  about 
heaven,  my  dear  sir,  is  noihing  to  what  I  saw.~T~At  a  dis 
tance,  on  a  cloud  of  fleecy  brightness,  sat  innumerable 
little  cherubs,  of  sweet  countenances ;  and  one  of  them 
smiling  on  me,  I  discovered  that  it  was  my  own  dear  child,  £v  > 
that  was  drowned  so  lately, — he  was  tuning  a  harp  of 
j>raise.  I  sprang  to  embrace  him,  but  my  kind  guide  pre 
vented  me.  '  Not  yet,  said  he,  heaven  has  not  as  yet  done 
with  your  services,  nor  have  your  sufferings  ended  on 
earth.  You  must  go  back, — the  time  has  not  yet  come 
for  you  to  join  these  heavenly  hosts.'  I  caught  another 
look  at  my  dear  babe,  and  the  emotion  brought  me  to  life. 
I  am  happy,"  she  added,  "I  beli<  \«  my><  H  one  of  the 
elect."  Whitefield  was  in  doubt  whether  this  was  a  per 
fect  proof  of  an  effectual  calling.  It  was,  indeed,  marvel 
lous,  but  that  touch  of  nature  and  feeling,  for  those  in  tor 
ment,  seemed  too  much  like  the  unregenerate  heart,  as  the 
truly'converted  would  have  had  no  such  emotions  in  them 
as  to  feel  for  justly  condemned  sinners.  However,  the  by 
standers  were  satisfied,  and  the  reformer  was  too  wise  to^/ 
suggest  his  doubts  in  a  very  decided  manner.  All  were 
perfectly  satisfied,  excepting  Capt.  Elliot ;  he  had  too  vi 
gorous  a  mind  to  be  easily  overcome.  He  had  seen  some- 
thing  of  the  world  too,  but,  on  the  whole,  thought  that  he 


126  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

would  not  say  any  thing  at  that  time,  as  its  effects  were  so 
comforting  to  his  wife.  He  remembered,  too,  a  thousand 
vagaries  of  his  own  mind,  when  he  was  stretched  on  a 
couch  of  new  pulled  leaves,  wounded,  sick,  and  over 
whelmed  with  thoughts  of  home, — a  prisoner,  hourly  ex 
pecting  his  own  dissolution,  and  only  kept  alive  by  some 
narcotics  and  balsams,  administered  by  his  Indian  physi 
cian.  This  story  related  by  his  wife,  brought  these  dreams, 
as  he  had  called  them,  fresh  to  his  recollection.  He 
thought,  also,  that  the  very  language  in  which  this  vision 
was  related,  appeared  to  him  more  like  the  enthusiastic, 
warm  and  glowing  words  of  Mr.  Whitefield,  than  those  of 
his  own  modest  spouse,  before  she  had  heard  his  rhapso 
dies  and  arousing  harangues.  He  was  silent,  however,  as 
his  wife  was  quiet.  The  general  awakening  went  famously 
on,  and  the  effects  of  it  are  visible  on  the  lives  of  some  of 
them  to  this  day.  There  are  those  now  sinking  into  the 
grave,  who  talk  of  this  season  of  the  gathering  in  of  souls, 
as  having  never  been  equalled  in  this  country. 

Year  after  year  passed  away,  and  other  children  were 
born  to  Capt.  Elliot.  He  had  resumed  his  business  of  a 
sea-faring  life,  and  was  successful  in  it.  In  the  year  1770, 
he  built  a  brig,  of  more  than  ordinary  size,  for  the  West 
India  trade;  and  having  rigged  her  in  the  very  best  style 
of  the  times,  he  felt,  as  master-mariners  generally  do,  very 
proud  of  his  vessel.  To  make  every  thing  go  right,  he 
was  careful  to  select  as  good  a  crew  as  could  be  found  in 
a  place  which  produced  the  best  sailors  in  the  world,  or  at 
least  as  good  as  any.  This  was  done  without  difficulty,  as 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  127 

Capt.  Elliot  had  a  good  name  for  humanity,  and  generous 
living  on  board  his  ship.  He  was  entirely  suited  in  his 
men.  His  mate  was  a  young  man,  and  a  near  relation  : 
of  not  much  experience,  but  energetic  and  intelligent. 
His  prime  men  were  Harry  Oakum,  Bill  Jones,  and  John 
Frink.  Harry  Oakum  was  a  fine  sized  man,  and  so  well 
made  and  comely  a  tar,  as  to  have  been  called  Handsome 
Harry.  Several  years  before  this,  in  the  Bilboa  trade,  he 
had  been  taken  by  the  '  infidel  foe,'  carried  to  Morocco, 
and  sold,  with  others,  for  a  slave.  He,  with  two  others, 
had  made  a  bold  resistance  against  the  crew  of  the  cor 
sair  which  took  him,  and  the  Turks  were  glad  to  get  such 
a  daring  fellow  off  their  hands.  Oakum  was  sold  to  an 
old  military  officer  of  the  government,  and  kept  in  the 
gardens  of  his  harem,  to  cultivate  flowers  and  fruit,  for  the 
space  of  three  years  and  more,  until  liberated,  or  rather 
ransomed,  by  the  British  government.  Harry  often  gave 
strange  hints  of  what  he  saw  and  did  in  that  period.  Now, 
there  was  a  beauty  drowned  in  a  sack, — and  now,  a  slave 
beheaded ;  but  he  fared,  generally  speaking,  pretty  well, 
running  several  hair-breadth  escapes ;  and  when  he  had  a 
double  share  of  grog,  he  would  drop  some  insinuations  that 
he  was  seen  with  tender  emotions  by  "ladies  fair,"  with 
great  riches,  who,  on  his  turning  Turk,  would  have  show 
ered  upon  him  their  gold,  and  offered  him  their  hands  ; 
but  by  thunder  and  Mars,  he  would  not  turn  Turk,  and 
give  up  his  religion.  No;  turn  Turk  and  curse  his  father, — 
as  the  old'proverb  says, — was  not  after  Oakum's  heart.  He 
was  born  a  Christian,  and  he  meant  to  die  one,  in  spite  of 


128  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

the  Devil.  Bill  Jones  was  as  tight  a  sailor  as  ever  stepped 
between  stem  and  stern  of  any  ship.  He  had  been  three 
years  a  press  volunteer  on  board  a  British  frigate,  and 
knew  every  rope  in  the  ship.  On  Saturday  night  he  sung 
many  a  good  song,  and  told  many  a  long  yarn ;  but  all 
loved  Bill,  for  he  was  every  body's  friend  in  distress.  John 
was  a  hard  headed,  careless  fellow,  that  was  ever  ready  in 
a  case  of  need  to  do  the  thing  he  ought,  in  the  way  of  duty, 
and  a  little  beyond  it,  if  occasion  required.  He  feared 
nothing  called  flesh  and  blood,  but  was  a  little  superstitious 
about  ghosts,  and  such  sort  of  things.  The  rest  of  the 
crew  were  hearty  fellows,  but  inferior  to  these  three. 

One  evening,  as  they  approached  the  West  Indies,  the 
air  became  as  still  as  though  it  had  never  moved — it 
seemed  difficult  to  respire,  such  a  rarifaction  of  the  air 
had  taken  plaee.  Without  any  apparent  cause,  the  ocean 
rose  in  long,  portentous  swells.  Capt.  Elliot  made  every 
preparation  for  a  storm ;  he  said  nothing  of  his  fears,  but 
listened  to  hear  the  distant  sound  of  the  hurricane,  in  its 
dreadful  travel  towards  them.  He  was  calm,  but  the 
sailors  understood  his  apprehensions.  Bill  Jones  was 
entertaining  Jack  Frink  with  a  long  story  of  a  ghost,  who 
appeared  to  some  of  the  crew  of  the  Hercules  just  before 
she  was  wrecked  ;  and  before  he  got  far  into  the  story,  he 
ewore  he  saw  it  himself.  It  was  the  ghost  of  Jack 
Oldcastle,  who  died  in  his  own  arms,  he  said,  about  three 
weeks  before  the  event.  Jack  appeared  to  him,  told  him 
the  storm  was  coming,  and  to  keep  a  good  *  look-out, 
or  they  would  all  be  in  Davy's  locker  before  morning. 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  l'^9 

Frink,  in  breathless  suspense,  was  inquiring  more  particu 
lars  about  the  ghost,  when  Capt.  Elliot,  hearing  the  dia 
logue,  put  an  end  to  it  by  telling  those  who  were  not 
in  the  watch  to  go  below.  At  the  order  they  started,  but 
as  they  were  about  turning  in,  Bill  Jones,  throwing  his 
quid  overboard,  gave  a  look  all  round,  and  muttered  out, 
not  for  the  green  horns  to  hear,  "  Split  my  timbers,  Harry, 
I  am  not  going  to  sleep— we're  to  have  it  soon,  tight  and 
tough  ;  this  becalm,  now,  is  only  a  sleeping  dog — it  will 
bark  loud  enough  by  and  by  ;  but,  howsomdever,  our  brig 
is  new  and  stanch,  and  will  weather  it,  if  any  thing  can." 
Harry  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but  thought  they  might 
get  a  little  sleep  before  the  blow  would  come  on.  Bill 
said  the  brig  would  work  like  an  egg  shell  in  a  sea.  The 
darkness  come  on  so  thick  as  almost  to  be  felt,  and  the 
very  stillness  was  appalling.  The  scene  soon  changed,  and 
the  rushing  of  the  wind  was  heard,  and  came  on  so 
instantly  and  furiously,  that  Bill  Jones  proposed  cutting 
away  the  masts  ;  for  the  first  sweep  threw  the  brig  nearly 
upon  her  beam  ends.  Harry  stood  ready  with  his  ax,  and 
Frink  was  near  to  spell  him  ;  but  as  yet,  Capt.  Elliot 
would  not  give  the  order,  relying  on  the  strength  of  his 
vessel;  but  at  last  yielded  to  the  importunities  of  his 
crew.  The  hull  was  soon  cleared  of  masts  and  rigging 
together,  and  she  righted.  The  decks  were  swept  clean, 
and  one  man  was  missing :  but  he  was  soon  seen  by  the 
flashings  of  the  lightning,  to  be  floating  in  the  rigging. 
Bill  Jones  fastened  a  rope  to  his  own  body,  and  plunged 
in  after  the  missing  man,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  him 

12 


130  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

on  board.     Twelve  hours  they  were  in  this  perilous  situa* 
tion,  expecting  instant  death ;  but  thanks  to  the  faithful 
workmen   of  Capt.   Elliot's   native   town,  the  brig  was 
so  well  built  that  she  defied  every  storm.     When  the  gale 
had  in  some  measure  abated,  one  of  the  sailors  stated  to 
Capt.  Elliot,  that  he  had  heard  heavy  guns  from  a  distance, 
from  some  vessel  in  distress ;  and  by  the  flashes  of  light 
ning,  he  thought  he  saw  a  large  man  of  war,  with  her 
masts  carried  away.     At  the  next  flash,  she  was  seen  by 
all  the  crew;  but  they  could  do  nothing  for  her  relief. 
The  firing  was  repeated  once  or  twice  more ;  and  after 
that,  nothing  could  be  seen  or  heard  of  her.     At  day 
light,  the  storm  had  almost  subsided,  but  the  waves  were 
still  running  and  breaking  with  great  fury.     Some  one 
cried  out  that  he  saw  a  man  on  a  spar,  and  then  another 
saw  him,   and  presently  others  were  discovered  in  the 
same  situation.     Capt.  Elliot  called  Oakum,  Jones,  and 
Frink,  and  consulted  them  upon  the  chance  of  relieving 
the  men  that  were  afloat  on  the  spars,  whom  the  crew 
thought   by   appearance   were  nearly  exhausted.      The 
sailors  all  said  they  would  go  with  the  captain,  but  they 
would  not  start  tack  nor  sheet  with  the  mate  ;  and  the 
mate  insisted  that  it  was  fool -hardiness  to  run  such  a  risk. 
Capt.  Elliot  ordered  the  large  boat  to  be  lowered  down. 
She  was  built  after  a  model  of  his  own,  for  his  brig,  and 
had  scarcely  been  used  ;  but  he  had  great  confidence  in 
her  as  a  sea-boat.     His  three  trusty  sailors  got  into  her. 
He  chose  to  have  only  two  oars,  and  one  man  to  assist  in 
getting  the  sufferers  on  board.      They  proceeded  with 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  131 

skill  and  caution,  and  soon  picked  up  five  men  nearly 

exhausted.     The   boat   was  about  returning,   when  Bill 

Jones  cried    out    that   he   saw   a  large  hen-coop    at  a 

distance ;    when  one  of  the  men  they  had   picked  up, 

said,  it  was  only  the  ship's  monkey,  who  had  got  on  to  the 

hen-coop — he  said  he  saw  him  abreast  an  hour  before. 

Bill  replied,  he  has  struggled  like  a  good  fellow  for  his 

life,   let  us   save  him,    and   mayhap,    after   all,   it   may 

be  a  man.     Well,  said  Capt.  Elliot,  pull,  my  boys,  for 

the  hen-coop ;  let  us  take  a  look  at  it.     On  it  they  found 

a  monkey,  who  was  watching  the  lifeless  form  of  a  young 

lad,  apparently  about  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  in  a 

midshipman's  dress.     The  animal  was  howling  piteously 

over  the  body  of  the  youth.     The  living  and  the  dead 

were   taken   into  the  boat  together.     The  sailors  lately 

saved,  knew  it  to  be  the  body  of  Midshipman  Dalrymple, 

son  of  the  captain  of  the  Centaur,  which  had  gone  down 

during  the  night,  and  all  had  perished  but  themselves. 

They  begged  Capt.  Elliot  not  to  throw  the  body  overboard. 

as  Capt.   Dalrymple    was   not   lost  with  his  ship,   being 

on  shore  when  the  gale  commenced,  and  was  not  able  to 

get  on  board  before  the  Centaur  slipped  her  cables  and 

put  out  to  sea.     With  no  small  difficulty  they  reached  the 

brig  and  got  on  board.     In  stripping  the  corse  of  the 

midshipman,  Oakum  said  he  had  no  water  in  him,  and  he 

did  not  believe  he  was  entirely  dead.     They  set  about 

rubbing  him  with  flannels,  and  making  up  a  bed  on  the 

cabin  floor,  with  all  the  dry  blankets  they  could  find  ;  two 

of  the  healthiest  of  the  sailors  got  into  it  and  took  the 


132  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

body  between  them.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  they 
discovered  vital  heat,  and  by  noon  the  young  man 
could  speak.  The  cold,  exhaustion  and  sleepiness 
had  not  quite  extinguished  the  vital  spark — with  care 
it  was  revived.  Capt.  Elliot  rigged  a  jury-mast,  and  in 
two  days  was  in  Kingston,  Jamaica,  and  brought  to  the 
anxious  inhabitants  the  sad  news  of  the  loss  of  the 
Centaur  and  all  but  six  men.  Capt.  Dalrymple  came  on 
board  the  brig,  and  before  he  had  time  to  make  any 
inquiries,  Bill  Jones  brought  up  the  midshipman  in  his 
arms,  and  said,  mayhap,  captain,  you  know  this  boy.  The 
father  and  son  were  both  overcome.  Capt.  Elliot  felt 
distressed  that  the  zeal  of  Jones  should  have  been  so 
indiscreet,  as  the  young  man  was  yet  so  feeble  ;  but  how 
ever,  no  ill  consequences  happened.  Capt.  Dalrymple 
expressed  his  gratitude  in  the  strongest  terms  to  Capt. 
Elliot,  and  rewarded  the  sailors  in  the  most  generous 
manner. 

The  storm  had  thrown  every  thing  into  confusion 
on  the  island,  and  it  was  difficult  to  make  repairs  or  find 
a  cargo  at  this  moment.  Capt.  Dalrymple  procured  an 
order  for  the  carpenters  and  riggers  at  the  navy  yard 
to  assist  in  fitting  the  brig  for  sea.  This  was  promptly 
attended  to,  and  in  a  few  days  she  was  ready  to  receive 
her  cargo ;  which,  however,  was  not  yet  collected,  nor 
entire  sales  made  of  the  outward  bound  cargo.  While 
the  business  was  in  as  regular  a  train  as  could  be  expected 
after  so  much  confusion,  Capt.  Elliot  several  times  went 
out  a  hunting  with  Capt.  Dalrymple  and  his  friends* 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  133 

George,  his  son,  at  length  found  himself  sufficiently 
strengthened  to  accompany  them.  Nearly  three  quarters 
of  the  island  of  Jamaica  is  uncultivated.  It  contains 
three  millions  of  acres  in  a  wild  state,  or  nearly  so. 
Immense  mountains,  inaccessible  fortresses,  and  terrific 
precipices,  make  it  a  most  romantic  country.  Capt. 
Elliot  loved  to  breathe  the  mountain  air,  so  refreshing  after 
inhaling  the  city  atmosphere,  and  often  ventured  far  up 
the  country.  He  had  been  apprised  that  in  those  regions 
there  were  numerous  wild  negroes,  as  they  were  called, 
runaways  and  insurgents,  who  had  fled  to  these  places 
of  security,  and  formed  themselves  into  a  government, 
under  an  intelligent  and  daring  fellow  by  the  name 
of  Cudjo,  who  ruled  his  subjects  with  so  much  talent, 
that  he  was  a  great  annoyance  to  the  city  and  plantations 
in  every  part  of  the  island.  It  had  been  found  impossi 
ble  to  dispossess  him  from  his  eyre  in  the  mountains. 

George  became  fond  of  shooting,  and  sometimes, 
when  his  father's  gout  would  not  permit  him  to  go  out,  he 
prevailed  upon  his  preserver,  Capt.  Elliot,  to  go  with  him, 
attended  only  by  a  slave,  for  a  guide.  On  one  of  these 
excursions  they  had  seated  themselves  to  take  some 
refreshment,  when  the  slave  uttered  a  scream  and  fled  : 
and  in  an  instant  a  large  party  of  the  free,  wild  blacks 
bad  surrounded  them,  and  demanded  that  they  should 
surrender  as  prisoners;  promising  not  to  do  them  any 
personal  injury.  George  had  precipitately  fired  his  piece 
and  wounded  one  of  the  blacks ;  but  Capt.  Elliot  gave  up 

his  gun,  telling  George  it  was  useless  to  contend  against 

12* 


134  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

FO  many,  and  he  thought  the  blacks  would  be  induced  to 
ransom  them.  They  were  conducted  up  the  mountain  to 
King  Cudjo,  who  was  seated  on  his  throne ;  and  after 
examining  the  prisoners,  he  told  them  that  he  sent  to 
seize  some  of  the  whites  as  hostages  for  several  of  his 
men,  then  in  prison  in  Kingston,  and  who  were  threatened 
with  death.  He  dwelt  strongly  upon  the  propriety  of  the 
lex  talionis,  and  concluded  with  an  oath,  that  if  his  men 
were  executed  he  would  carry  it  into  effect.  They  might, 
he  said,  send  a  note  to  their  friends,  if  they  would  be 
answerable  for  the  flag  of  truce.  This  was  agreed  to, 
and  a  messenger  dispatched,  with  news  of  their  capture. 
Day  after  day  passed  away,  and  he  did  not  return ;  and 
Cudjo  had  fixed  the  next  day  for  their  execution.  He 
knew  his  men  were  to  be  burnt  alive,  and  he  prepared  a 
pile  to  make  the  retaliation  exact.  As  the  prisoners  were 
dwelling  upon  their  melancholy  state,  Capt.  Elliot  had  to 
comfort  George,  and  related  to  him  his  former  perils.  At 
this  moment  the  doors  of  their  rude  cabin  opened,  and  the 
daughter  of  Cudjo  entered,  bringing  sugar-cane,  yams, 
and  other  refreshments.  George  suggested  that  they 
might  be  poisoned.  No,  said  Capt.  Elliot,  I  have  been 
amongst  the  Iroquois,  and  other  fierce  tribes  of  Indians, 
on  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  in  Lapland — have  seen 
civilized,  half  civilized,  and  savage  women,  and  I  never 
found  one,  who  was  not  slighted  or  insulted,  that  was  not 
humane  and  compassionate.  The  female  was  in  great 
agitation,  and  frequently  looked  out  to  see  if  the  sun  was 
approaching.  It  at  length  arose  in  full  glory.  She  burst 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  135 

from  them  in  a  convulsion  of  distress  and  despair.  The 
guard  fastened  the  door,  and  they  joined  in  their  devo 
tions  to  prepare  their  spirits  for  the  death  which  awaited 
them. 


CHAPTER    III. 

'•The  sailor's  hand  is  open;  his  courage 
Rises  is  the  great  occasion  calls, 
Bui  his  proud  heart  is  soft  as  infant's  flesh." 

As  soon  as  the  servant  returned  to  the  city,  he  alarmed 
Capt.  Dalrymple,  and  the  troops  on  garrison  duty,  and 
others,  who  repaired  to  the  spot  without  loss  of  time,  and 
while  there,  learnt  from  a  negress,  who  was  collecting 
herbs,  that  she  saw  the  party  of  hostile  negroes,  with  two 
white  men  as  prisoners;  and  described  them  so  minutely, 
that  there  could  be  no  mistake  respecting  their  fate  ;  and 
further  informed  them,  that  the  white  men  walked  with 
great  ease,  and  did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  slightest  degree 
wounded ;  but  from  the  best  information  they  could  get,  it 
was  certain  that  pursuit  would  be  unavailing,  as  the  ma 
rauders  had  several  hours  the  start,  in  the  mountains,  with 
an  acquaintance  with  every  pass  to  Cudjo's  settlement 
On  the  return  of  Capt.  Dalrymple  and  the  soldiers,  Oak 
um  sat  on  a  hen-coop,  using  more  than  an  ordinary  quan 
tity  of  the  best  Virginia,  but  was  for  a  while  quite  silent  ; 
at  length  he  beckoned  to  Bill  Jones,  who  was  wiping  his 
eyes.  "  Bill,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  remember  that  black 
fellow  who  was  the  cooper  for  us  last  voyage?  He  used  to 


136  THE   LOST   CHILD, 

tell  me  that  he  was  once  a  prisoner  in  the  mountains,  and 
knew  all  the  passes  and  by-ways  round  old  Cudjo's  '  eagle's 
nest.'  Now  we  will  go  and  see  him."  On  reflection, 
however,  they  sent  for  the  cooper  to  come  on  board,  and 
take  a  drink  with  them.  This  was  easily  done,  and  the 
cooper  came.  A  little  money  was  slipped  into  his  hand, 
and  a  good  glass  of  stuff  given  him,  when  he  readily  fell 
into  the  plan  Oakum  had  been  cogitating.  They  agreed 
to  set  off  the  next  night  to  reconnoitre  old  Cudjo's  city,  and 
see  if  it  was  accessible  to  a  large  party.  As  soon  as  mat 
ters  could  be  arranged,  Oakum  and  Jones,  disguised  as 
blacks,  set  out  with  the  cooper,  who  led  them  a  round 
about  way,  for  fear  of  being  discovered  by  the  negroes  of 
the  mountain,  who  were  always,  as  he  said,  lurking  about. 
The  path  was  filled  with  the  prickly  pear,  which  made  the 
travelling  almost  death  to  them ;  but  brave  men  yield  to 
no  evils  in  a  good  cause.  They  made  notes  as  they 
went  on,  and  with  such  accuracy,  that  it  was  easy  for 
the  seamen  to  find  the  course,  if  any  accident  should 
happen  to  the  cooper.  At  midnight  they  reached  the  se 
cret  path,  and  by  the  dawn  came  to.  the  village  of  Cudjo. 
They  entered  it  with  great  caution.  The  prison  was  easi 
ly  distinguished  from  the  other  houses,  by  the  size  of  the 
stones  and  logs  with  which  it  was  built,  and  the  smallness 
of  the  apertures  for  air  and  light.  Several  sentinels  were 
walking  around  the  building,  and  several  more  were  asleep 
near  the  door  of  it.  After  looking  about  carefully,  and 
counting  the  number  of  the  huts,  and  noticing  the  manner 
in  which  they  were  erected,  Oakum  gave  the  signal  for  a 


THE    LOST    CHILD  J37 

retreat.  This  was  effected  without  the  slightest  suspicion, 
and  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  to  the  city  by  the 
same  path  they  came.  The  next  night,  Oakum  called  the 
crew  of  the  brig,  and  about  thirty  English  sailors,  who  had 
just  been  paid  off,  from  a  sloop  of  war,  and  then  living  in 
boarding  bouses,  and  stated  to  them  his  project,  bound 
them  to  secrecy,  and  invited  them  to  lend  him  a  hand  in 
rescuing  Capt.  Elliot  and  George,  who  were  prisoners  in 
the  mountains.  The  sailor?,  one  and  all,  were  delighted 
with  the  frolic  ;  and  pledging  themselves  to  keep  sober, 
and  be  in  readiness  the  next  afternoon,  they  parted.  Arms 
were  easily  procured,  as  the  crew  of  the  brig  had  acquaint 
ance  with  the  gunners  and  boatswains  of  every  ship  in  tho 
harbor.  Not  a  man  flinched,  nor  had  the  seamen  been 
discouraged,  though,  perhaps,  all  of  them  were  not  quite 
as  sober  as  they  promised  to  be;  however,  all  were  in 
marching  order.  They  went  out  of  the  city  by  squads ; 
and  as  most  of  them  had  been  parading  the  streets  for  se 
veral  days,  no  notice  was  taken  of  them  as  they  passed  to 
the  suburbs.  Their  arms  had  been  sent  on  before  them 
by  Oakum,  who  employed  the  cooper  to  take  them  as  far 
as  he  could  on  a  couple  of  mules;  and  also  a  quantity  of 
provision  and  liquors.  Arriving  at  the  foot  of  the  moun 
tain,  the  corps  rested  and  refreshed  themselves,  shook  each 
others'  hands  in  pledge  of  faith  to  one  another,  and  then 
chose  officers.  Oakum  was  elected  their  leader,  Jones 
lieutenant,  and  a  quarter-gunner  the  next;  after  which 
they  began  the  ascent.  All  the  dilliculties  were  overcome 
before  day-light.  They  stopped  about  a  mile  from  tho 


138  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

village  to  rest  a  while,  and  at  the  first  dawn  of  the  day, 
took  up  their  line  of  march  for  the  attack.  Bill  Jones 
was  to  plant  a  sentinel  at  the  door  of  every  cabin,  and 
Oakum  proceeded  to  liberate  the  prisoners.  The  quarter- 
gunner  had  his  corps  in  reserve,  to  act  as  occasion  should 
require.  It  was  now  full  day-light  at  the  residence  of 
these  children  of  the  mist ;  for  the  twilight  in  that  latitude 
is  short ;  but  in  general  they  were  not  yet  stirring.  Oak 
um  went  on  to  the  prison,  and  instantly  captured  all  the 
guard,  cutting  down  two,  who  stoutly  opposed  him ;  the 
rest  surrendered  at  once,  seeing  the  force  they  must  con- 
tend  with.  Near  the  door,  the  stakes  were  fixed,  and  the 
cane  tops  gathered  and  dried  for  the  holocaust,  which  was 
to  have  taken  place  that  day.  The  daughter  of  Cudjo  was 
just  coming  out  of  the  prison,  attended  by  two  aged  wo 
men.  They  were  instantly  made  prisoners,  and  ordered^ 
on  pain  of  death,  to  be  still.  Oakum  and  his  men  then 
forced  the  rough  door  of  the  prison,  and  hailed  his  friends 
as  free ;  and  making  short  work  of  getting  them  out,  he 
poured  his  men  into  the  king's  palace.  The  attendants 
had  taken  the  alarm,  but  were  not  in  a  state  of  defence. 
They  were  made  prisoners,  and  bound  in  five  minutes ; 
every  man  of  the  assailants  had  a  piece  of  rope  in  his 
pocket  in  case  of  need, — this  was  a  good  thought.  Cudjo 
was  stupified  with  astonishment ;  but  when  he  beheld  his 
darling  daughter  a  prisoner,  his  grief  knew  no  bounds. 
He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and  begged  for  her  life, 
promising  all  his  treasures  for  her  ransom.  Oakum  ex 
plained  in  a  few  words  the  business  he  came  for,  and  said 


LOST   CHILD.  139 


if  the  king  would  confide  in  him,  no  person  should  be  in 
jured.     "  I  must  take  you,"  said  the  noble-minded  tar, 
"  part  way  with  us,  for  fear,  if  we  let  you  go,  that  you  will 
raise  a  strong  force,  and  follow  us ;  but  you  shall  be  libera 
ted  as  soon  as  we  are  in  safety."     Capt.  Elliot  now  came 
forward,  and  told  them  all  how  kind  the  king's  daughter 
had  been  to  himself  and  George  while  in  prison.     On 
hearing  this,  they  all,  with  one  accord,  declared  that  she 
should  not  b«  hurt.     Oakum  now  asked  Capt.  Elliot  to 
take  command ;  but  such  was  his  surprise  and  joy  at  his 
liberation,  that  he  told  Oakum  he  was  captain  now,  all 
should  obey  him.     They  took  up  their  march  on  the  re- 
turn,  and  moved  on  as  rapidly  as  possible,  for  fear  the  in- 
habitants  of  the  neighboring  mountains  would  take  the 
alarm,  and  pour  out  their  warriors;  but  such  was  the  dis 
patch  and  secrecy  with  which  this  expedition  had  been 
conducted,  that  no  alarm  was  given   an   hundred  yards 
from  Cudjo's  village.     When  all  had  come  to  the  foot  of 
the  mountain,  with  the  king  and  his  daughter,  Oakum  said 
to  Cudjo,  "  Now,  king,  I  will  make  a  treaty  with  you  on 
fair  terms.     I  could  take  you  to  the  city  ;  but  if  I  did,  your 
head  would  not  be  safe  eight  and  forty  hours.     Now  if  you 
will  pledge  yourself  to  give  up,  and  send  home,  every  pri 
soner  in  your  dominions,  in  three  days,  I  will  let  you  go, 
and  all  your  men  ;  but  your  daughter  must  be  taken  to  the 
city  as  a  hostage  for  your  act  inn  up  to  your  promise  in 
good   faith."     He   pledged    himself  most   solemnly,   and 
swore,  by  the  Obi,  that  he  would  be  true  to  his  word,  but 
grieved  sorely  to  think  that  his  daughter  must  be  exposed 


140  THE   LOST    CHILD. 

for  his  sake.  Capt.  Elliot  then  came  forward  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  breast,  assuring  the  king  that  no  harm 
should  come  to  his  daughter;  that  he  would  defend  her  to 
the  last  moment  of  his  life;  and  Oakum  wound  off  with  an 
oath  for  her  safety.  The  king  yielded,  and  the  treaty  be 
ing  definitively  settled,  Cudjo  began  his  march  for  his  vil 
lage.  The  parting  between  the  father  and  daughter  was 
affectionate,  and  quite  affected  all  the  hardy  tars,  most  of 
whom  had  thought  a  negro  could  not  have  a  heart. 

Bill  Jones  was  the  only  one  wounded.  A  guard 
of  Cudjo  had  given  him  a  cut  with  a  knife,  but  Bill  said 
he  did  not  mind  a  little  scratch,  as  things  had  gone 
so  well.  The  king's  daughter  seeing  Jones's  wound, 
offered  to  dress  it ;  and  finding  some  herbs,  she  bound 
it  up,  and  Bill  with  great  gallantry  said  he  was  now  quite 
well,  and  tendered  his  thanks  to  his  royal  doctoress  with 
a  hearty  shake  by  the  hand.  The  assailants  arriving  in 
the  city,  rumor,  with  her  hundred  tongues,  was  magnify 
ing  the  event.  It  was  the  subject  in  every  shop,  vessel 
and  house  in  Kingston ;  but  when  the  Governor  heard 
that  Cudjo  had  been  in  the  hands  of  the  party  and 
had  been  liberated,  his  resentment  knew  no  bounds. 
These  mountain  negroes  had  kept  him  in  continual  alarm, 
and  that  so  good  an  opportunity  for  destroying  them  should 
have  escaped,  was  distressing.  The  next  morning  he 
gent  for  Capt.  Elliot,  and  in  a  high  and  authoritative 
tone,  inquired  the  state  of  facts,  and  reprimanded  him 
for  suffering  Cudjo  to  escape.  He  calmly  replied,  that  as 
he  was  rescued  by  a  party  of  brave  volunteers,  and  was 


THE    LOST    CHII  I>.  141 

not  indebted  to  any  interference  of  his  majesty's  govern- 
mnit.  he  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
course  of  humanity  at  any  time.  At  this  reply  he  left 
the  hall,  and  the  soldiers  brought  in  the  daughter  of 
Cudjo,  and  her  faithful  protector,  Harry  Oakum,  bearing 
something  of  his  late  success  in  his  countenance.  The 
young  woman  was  called  and  examined.  The  first  ques- 
lion  put  to  her  was,  "  What  is  your  name  ?"  "  Seka,"  was 
the  reply ;  "  I  am  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  chief  in 
the  mountains,  sometimes  called  King  Cudjo."  The 
clearness,  firmness  and  precision  with  which  she  spoke, 
astonished  the  grave  politicians  there  assembled.  She 
looked,  dark  as  she  was,  quite  handsome;  slightly  tinged 
with  the  red  and  white  of  an  European,  tall  and  graceful, 
with  a  most  melodious  voice.  On  further  inquiry,  she 
proceeded  to  give  a  more  distinct  account  of  herself,  and 
stated  that  she  was  educated  by  a  white  woman,  the 
widow  of  an  officer  whom  her  father  preserved  from 
outrage  and  death  some  years  before,  when  the  wife  had 
followed  her  husband  in  an  attack  on  the  inhabitant? 
of  the  mountains.  The  officer  was  slain,  and  when 
Cudjo  sent  the  lady  home,  his  infant,  at  the  lady's  request, 
was  allowed  to  attend  her,  but  the  rank  and  name  of 
the  child  were  to  be  kept  secret.  She  added,  "  I  remained 
in  this  city  until  I  heard  my  father  was  growing  old,  and 
had  bad  advisers  about  him,  who  induced  him  to  act? 
of  cruelty  which  were  contrary  to  his  naturally  good 
disposition  ;  I  then  returned  to  the  mountains,  hoping 

to  save  the  innocent  who  might  fall  into  his  hands.     In 

13 


142  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

this  I  have  succeeded ;  and  when  I  was  taken  by  this 
noble  fellow,  and  kept  as  I  now  am,  a  hostage  for  the 
discharge  of  certain  white  men  in  my  father's  dominions, 
I  was  carrying  comfort  and  consolation  to  Capt.  Elliot 
and  young  Dalrymple.  My  father  had  promised  me  that 
they  should  not  be  executed  until  we  had  heard  further 
from  the  city.  We  had  discovered,  the  afternoon  previous 
to  our  being  made  captives,  that  the  messenger  sent  with  a 
flag  of  truce  had  been  shot,  and  robbed  of  the  watch 
which  young  Dalrymple  had  given  him  to  urge  him 
on  in  his  duty  in  carrying  his  message.  The  letter  was 
found  in  the  dead  man's  pocket.  If  no  other  means 
could  have  saved  the  lives  of  the  prisoners,  I  should 
have  liberated  them  myself,  and  have  conducted  them 
to  such  a  place  of  safety  as  would  have  secured  their 
lives."  She  then  gave  the  whole  account  of  the  capture 
and  the  treaty,  and  ended  by  avowing  her  confidence 
in  her  father's  honor. 

During  this  examination,  Oakum  stood  by,  full  of 
admiration  at  her  understanding  and  spirit ;  and  when 
she  had  finished,  spoke  so  loud  as  to  be  heard  by  all, 
"By  the  beard  of  Mahomet,  that  speech  is  better  by  half 
than  a  Turkish  princess  could  make."  The  Governor,  in  a 
harsh  voice,  called  upon  Oakum  to  give  an  account 
of  himself.  Harry  replied,  that  he  was  not  much  given  to 
speech  making,  though  he  did  not  think  himself  wanting 
in  tongue ;  and,  thank  God  !  he  Lad  one  which  he  called 
his  own,  at  least  he  thought  so,  when  at  home  in  the 
Bay  State  ;  but  as  to  the  matter  of  this  little  affair,  he 


THE    LOST    CHIf  IX  1  l\ 

said,  that  he  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  save  his  old 
captain  if  possible,  and  he  had  done  it,  without  thanks  to 
government  troops,  who  never  could,  or  never  dared,  find 
the  way  up  the  mountains.  This  sneer  was  a  severe  cut, 
for  his  excellency  had  often  threatened  to  exterminate  the 
blacks  in  the  mountains,  but  had  never  redeemed  his 
promises ;  but  Harry  knew  nothing  of  this  in  particular. 
The  Governor  again  asked  him,  why  he  did  not  bring 
Cudjo  to  the  city,  as  he  might  have  made  his  fortune 
by  it.  "  Did  you  not  know,"  continued  he,  "  that  I  have 
offered  two  thousand  pounds  for  Cudjo's  head  ?"  "  Y«§," 
answered  Harry,  "  I  have  heard  something  of  this  promised 
reward,  and,  to  be  honest  with  you,  it  did  once  come 
across  my  mind,  but  I  set  sail  on  another  business,  and 
did  not  think  it  was  like  a  true  seaman  to  go  out  of  my 
way  to  plunder  a  wreck  ;  and  then  what  good  would  such 
money  do  my  old  mother,  when  she  come  to  know  it  was 
the  price  of  a  man's  blood,  and  one,  too,  who  never  did 
me  any  harm  ?  She  would  have  found  it  out ;  for  in 
faith  she  heard  every  tiling  I  did  when  I  was  a  slave 
in  Morocco,  long  before  I  got  home  ;  and  if  she  had  not, 
there  would  have  been  something  about  my  heart,  which 
would  have  kept  up  an  eternal  racket  about  such  a  scurvy 
trick  as  selling  a  poor  old  man'.--  head  for  gold."  Harry  was 
then  ordered  to  leave  the  room,  but  he  said  that  he  "  came 
to  convoy  that  Indiaman  there,"  pointing  to  Seka,  "  and  as 
good  a  one  as  ever  floated,  and  I  shan't  sheer  off  until  I 
have  had  a  broadside  or  two  with  any  force  which  may 
come,  even  if  his  majesty's  navy,  all  put  together,  were  to 


144  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

;Utack  her."  This  speech  excited  a  smile  around  the 
council  board,  and  the  peace  officers  were  ordered  to  take 
Seka  to  a  place  of  confinement,  but  accompanied  with 
strict  injunctions  to  treat  her  with  kindness  and  attention. 
"  Not  so  fast,"  said  Harry,  and  instantly  knocking  down  the 
peace  officers,  who  apprehended  no  resistance,  he  seized 
Seka  under  his  arm,  and  marched  out  of  the  hall  with  so 
much  firmness  and  decision,  that  all  the  spectators  were 
astonished  at  the  lofty  spirit  of  the  gallant  sailor.  The 
alarm  was  given ;  the  soldiers  turned  out ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes,  Harry,  with  his  interesting  charge,  was  over 
powered  and  taken.  He  would  have  had  a  severe  brush 
with  the  soldiers,  for  he  had  pistols  about  him,  but  Seka 
implored  him  not  to  make  any  defence,  for  she  knew  that 
all  would  come  right.  Seka  was  led  to  a  place  of  con 
finement,  which  was  secure  but  comfortable,  a  sort  of 
tower  for  prisoners  of  distinction.  Harry  went  off  to 
Capt.  Elliot,  and  told  the  whole  story,  fuming  and  raging 
like  a  madman.  The  sailors,  from  ship  to  ship,  sympa 
thized  with  him,  and  blasted  the  cruelty  of  the  Governor. 
Captain  Dalrymple  was  unfortunately  confined  to  his 
bed  with  the  gout  in  the  stomach,  and  his  physicians 
thought  it  dangerous  to  name  the  return  of  his  son 
to  him.  This  was  done,  however,  by  degrees,  but  with 
the  express  injunction  of  his  medical  advisers,  that 
nothing  of  an  unpleasant  nature  should  be  mentioned  to 
him.  Even  Capt.  Elliot  was  ndt  permitted  to  visit  him. 
Oakum  sat  silent  and  alone  on  the  deck  of  the  brig,  and 
no  one  hardly  ventured  to  speak  to  him,  all  had  so  much 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  145 

commiseration  for  his  wounded  feelings.  This  abstraction 
continued  for  two  days,  and  during  this  time  several 
distinguished  officers  of  his  majesty's  navy  came  to  see 
the  noble  hearted  tar.  He  bowed  respectfully  to  all  of 
them,  but  made  no  conversation  with  any  one.  They 
promised  him  honors  and  money,  but  this  did  not  move 
him.  At  the  close  of  the  second  day,  Oakum  called 
Bill  Jones  to  him,  who  had  remained  pretty  quiet  with  his 
wound,  and  said  to  him,  "  Bill,  did  I  not  say  to  Cudjo,  that 
he  should  have  my  head  for  a  foot-ball  if  any  harm  came  to 
his  child?"  "  Something  like  of  that,"  said  Jones.  "Come 
here,  Bill,"  said  Harry,  and  they  put  their  heads  together, 
and  had  a  long  conversation  in  whispers  ;  during  which 
they  were  both  seen  to  shed  tears.  This  was  a  new  thing  ; 
tears  had  not  trickled  down  their  weather-beaten  faces  for 
many  a  day  before.  Their  own  personal  sufferings  could 
never  affect  to  tears.  The  next  morning  Oakum  and 
Jones  were  missing.  Captain  Elliot  was  alarmed,  but 
looking  into  their  chests,  he  discovered  that  all  their 
valuable  articles  were  taken  away.  Two  pairs  of  the 
brio's  pi-tols  were  missing,  as  well  as  two  cutlasses,  dirks, 
&c.  On  going  into  the  city,  he  found  that  two  sailors 
had  purchased  a  mule,  laden  her  and  led  her  off.  This 
information  reached  the  government  house,  and  sol<licr> 
were  dispatched  after  the  fugitives,  but  no  trace  of  them 
could  be  found.  The  same  day,  six  white  men,  who 
were  supposed  to  have  been  murdered,  came  into  the  city, 
and  reported  themselves  to  the  Governor  as  having  been 

released    from   bondage    ami    prison   by    Cudjo,   in   faith 

13* 


J4<)  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

of  his  treaty  with  Oakum.  This  spread  joy  throughout 
the  city,  and  such  clamors  were  raised  by  all  classei 
of  the  community,  that  Seka  was  released  and  escorted  to 
the  house  of  her  god-mother  with  every  attention.  A 
proclamation  was  issued,  requesting  Oakum  and  Jones 
to  return,  and  offering  them  large  sums  for  being  the 
means  of  saving  the  lives  of  these  six  respectable 
individuals ;  but  nothing  could  be  heard  of  them.  The 
black  cooper  was  sent  with  a  flag  of  truce  in  the  course 
of  a  few  days  to  Cudjo  ;  but  when  he  came  to  the  difficult 
part  of  the  secret  way,  he  found  it  entirely  filled  up  with 
stones  from  the  mountains,  and  all  communication  cut 
off.  The  mountaineers  had  made  that  path  for  ever 
inaccessible,  and  of  course  he  was  obliged  to  return 
without  finding  any  access  to  Cudjo. 

Soon  after  this,  the  mountains  were  seen  every  night 
illuminated  with  large  fires,  and  it  was  currently  reported 
in  the  city — coming,  probably,  from  those  living  between 
the  mountains  and  lower  lands,  who,  from  their  very  local 
situation,  held  a  sort  of  neutral  ground — that  all  the 
passes  were  defended  by  cannon,  or  high  masses  of  stones 
were  held  by  machinery  of  wood,  ready  to  be  precipitated 
on  the  foe  who  should  dare  the  ascent,  and  that  Cudjo 
laughed  at  British  power  in  conscious  security.  No  lives 
had  been  taken,  but  plantations  had  been  plundered  of 
arms  and  munitions  of  war,  even  very  near  the  city,  and 
the  whole  island  seemed  about  to  be  under  the  dominion 
of  the  mountaineers.  Not  a  mother  slept  safely  in  the 
city.  At  midnight  the  roar  of  the  cannon  was  often 


THE    LOST    mil. P.  147 

heard  to  echo  amongst  the  mountains,  and  passing  over 
the  city  in  its  reverberatians,  died  upon  the  Atlantic 
wave.  On  the  Governor's  palace  one  morning,  it  was 
found  written  in  large  letters  of  chalk — "  The  inhabitants 
of  this  house  hart  thi>  night  been  indebted  to  tin  guuro- 
tity  of  an  enemy  for  their  lives.  Learn  to  do  jvstir, 
At  another  time,  a  placard  was  put  up  on  the  door  of  the 
government  house — "  If  Oudjo's  daughter  rereices  the 
least  /trirni,  the  daughters  of  crery  member  of  the  eounril 
shall  be  answerable  for  it.  An  eye  for  an  eye,  and 
a  tooth  for  a  tooth."  In  this  manner  matters  went  on, 
and  the  whole  business  of  the  city  seemed  suspended. 

Captain  Dalrymple  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  converse 
with  his  son,  and  to  see  his  friend  Elliot  ;  and  by  degrees 
he  came  to  a  full  knowledge  of  the  whole  affair,  but 
he  was  not  yet  able  to  leave  his  room.  Notwithstanding 
his  weakness,  he  dispatched  several  notes  to  the  Governor, 
of  a  high-toned  character,  which  were  answered  in  a 
milder  tone  than  his  excellency  had  before  thought  fit  to 
use.  He  knew  Dalrymple's  power  and  influence  at  home, 
and  wished  to  conciliate  him.  A  sort  of  apology  was 
offered  from  the  government  house,  to  Capt.  Elliot,  but  he 
took  as  little  notice  of  it  as  of  the  insult.  While  the 
people  of  the  city  were  in  this  sad  consternation,  one 
night  there  came  up  a  violent  thunder  gust.  The  evening 
before  there  had  been  several  slight  shocks  of  an  earth 
quake,  which  alarmed  the  inhabitants  very  much,  as  the 
city  had  cnce  suffered  severely  by  one  of  these  dreadful 
convulsions  of  nature.  The  thunder  storm  was  violent, 


148  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

and  strange  stories  were  told  of  mountaineers  being 
seen  by  the  flashes  of  lightning,  prowling  through  the 
streets  of  Kingston.  The  doors  of  the  prison  in  which 
Seka  had  passed  a  night,  were  broken  open,  and  the 
whole  room  defaced,  but  no  person  was  seen  in  the  yard 
or  about  the  building. 

John  Frink  declared  to  Capt.  Elliot,  that  as  he  was 
in  his  hammock,  in  the  forecastle,  the  ghost  of  Harry 
Oakum  appeared  to  him,  and  seemed  rummaging  the  old 
chest  he  had  left.  Frink  stated  that  the  ghost  held  a 
candle  in  his  hand,  and  came  up  near  his  hammock, 
and  looked  scornfully  upon  him,  but  did  not  speak  a  word, 
and  then  vanished  away.  The  next  morning,  Seka  and 
her  god-mother  were  missing,  and  traces  of  blood  were 
visible  from  her  chamber  to  the  yard ;  not  a  servant  could 
be  found  in  the  house. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt 
What  th'  unsearchable  dispose 
Of  highest  Wisdom  brings  about, 
And  ever  best  found  in  the  close." 

CAPTAIN  Dalrymple  received  advices  from  London,  that 
in  the  list  of  promotions,  he  was  advanced  to  Rear  Admi 
ral,  and  was  ordered  to  the  East  Indies.  Calling  his  son 
George,  he  consulted  him  on  finishing  his  education  in 
America.  "  I  have,"  said  he,  "  large  tracts  of  land  there, 
in  several  of  the  provinces,  and  probably  you  will  find  it 
to  your  advantage  to  spend  a  good  part  of  your  time  in 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  149 

America ;  but  at  all  events,  it  is  a  good  quiet  place  for  you 
to  get  an  education.  Harvard  College  has  the  reputation 
of  furnishing  some  excellent  scholars,  and  you  are  well 
grounded  in  the  classics  and  mathematics,  and  of  course 
can  graduate  with  distinction,  if  you  will.  This  plan  was 
acceptable,  and  the  young  man  took  his  departure  for  Bos 
ton  with  Capt.  Elliot.  He  was  put  under  the  care  of  Doc 
tor  Samuel  Cooper ;  and  entering  College  a  year  in  ad 
vance,  was  soon  among  the  first  of  his  class.  Young  as 
he  was,  he  soon  saw  that  the  country  would  not  long  re 
main  quiet,  for  at  this  time  two  regiments  of  British  sol- 
diers  were  quartered  in  Boston,  and  the  citizens  were  in  a 
state  of  great  irritation.  In  the  spring  of  1770,  the  first 
blood  was  spilt  in  the  streets  of  Boston.  The  whole  coun 
try  expressed  the  greatest  indignation  at  this  outrage.  The 
next  year  the  event  was  commemorated  by  a  solemn  pro 
cession  and  an  oration.  In  it  the  great  doctrines  of  civil 
liberty  were  freely  discussed,  and  resistance  to  oppression 
inculcated.  The  students  were  allowed  to  come  from 
Cambridge  to  Boston  to  join  these  solemnities ;  and  the 
head  of  every  youth  was  filled  with  politics.  The  next 
year,  1772,  the  oration  was  delivered  by  Doctor  Joseph 
Warren,  then  one  of  the  leading  whigs  in  Massachusetts. 
From  the  high  standing  of  Admiral  Dalrymple,  his  son  had 
access  to  the  best  society  in  Boston  and  the  neighborhood. 
Among  others,  Doctor  Warren  was  very  attentive  to  the 
young  gentleman,  and  often  invited  him  to  dine  with  him 
on  Saturdays,  when  the  students  who  had  friends  in  town 
were  allowed  to  come  in  to  see  them,  and  spend  the  Sun- 


150  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

day.  Warren  was  a  fine  bred  gentleman,  and  said  but 
little  about  politics  when  the  young  Englishman  was  there. 
This  the  latter  perceiving,  directed  his  inquiries  to  the 
state  of  things,  and  received  the  most  accurate  account  of 
them  from  the  Doctor ;  but  still  the  latter  was  cautious  of 
giving  opinions  on  the  future  course  of  events.  When  the 
anniversary  of  the  massacre,  as  it  was  called,  arrived,  War 
ren  suggested  to  his  young  friend,  that  he  had  better  not 
come  to  Boston  to  hear  the  oration,  as  bold  ground  would 
be  taken  by  him,  and  his  doctrines  and  their  expositions 
might  sound  harsh  to  his  ears.  George  thanked  him  for 
his  politeness,  but  told  him  that  it  was  his  father's  orders 
to  him,  to  note  every  thing  going  on,  and  to  send  advices 
often  to  England,  that  they  might  reach  him  in  due  time  in 
India.  George  was  at  the  delivery  of  the  oration,  and 
procured  copies  as  soon  as  it  issued  from  the  press,  to  send 
to  England  with  the  package,  containing  a  file  of  newspa 
pers  and  the  political  pamphlets  of  the  day ;  he  wrote  the 
Admiral  the  following  letter : 

"Dear  Father, 

"  The  newspapers  and  pamphlets  I  herewith  send 
you,  will  apprise  you  of  the  state  of  affairs  in  this  province, 
and  the  oration  of  Doctor  Warren  will  convince  you  that 
men  of  intelligence  and  standing  are  deeply  engaged  in 
the  contest ;  and  pardon  me,  if,  young  as  I  am,  I  venture 
to  predict  that  torrents  of  blood  will  be  spilt  before  the 
struggle  is  over.  I  do  not  draw  any  inferences  from  what 
may  have  been  done  by  a  mob,  or  by  what  a  few  partisan 
leaders  may  say ;  but  from  the  feelings  and  reasonings  of 
the  youths  of  the  country.  There  are  not  more  than  a 
half  dozen  in  this  institution  with  me  in  politics;  and  I 
assure  you  that  I  am,  as  you  advised  me  to  be,  prudent  in 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  151 

these  matters.  Every  thing  here  is  warlike  or  political 
A  poll  >  and  the  Muses  have  Hed  lor  a  season,  and  I  wi&h  I 
was  on  the  journey  with  them.  Your  friend  and  mine, 
Doctor  Warren,  joins  with  you  in  thinking  that  studmts 
should  attend  to  their  duties,  and  wait  for  npcr  years  to 
commence  politician.  My  dear  father,  what  a  splendid 
roan  Doctor  Warren  is!  His  person  is  more  manly  than 
when  you  saw  him, — his  movements  have  ease  with  ma 
jesty ;  his  voice  is  full,  sweet,  powerful,  and  well  cultim- 
ted ;  his  lowest  undertones,  in  that  oration,  were  heard 
with  great  distinctness.  He  is  the  great  leader  of  the 
whigs.  John  Hancock  is  held  in  greater  reverence  by 
some,  who  consider  wealth  as  making  a  man ;  hut  it  is 
not  believed  that  he  has  the  same  exalted  talents.  War 
ren  is  just  such  a  man  as  would  have  been  all-powerful  at 
Athens  in  the  best  days  of  Greece;  he  has  the  enchanting 
manners  of  Alcibiades,  the  copious  flow  of  Isocrates,  with 
the  clear  judgment  of  Plato.  Such  a  man  cannot  fail  to 
be  a  leader. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  an  excursion  to  Portsmouth, 
to  fee  your  friend,  Governor  John  Wentworth;  he  is 
alarmed  at  the  symptoms  of  the  times.  In  every  tavern  I 
heard  the  village  politicians  make  use  of  the  freest  expres 
sions  of  determination  to  resist  unto  the  end,  if  some  ame 
lioration  of  measures  did  not  take  place.  As  I  passed  the 
beautiful  little  town  of  Newburyport,  I  called  to  see  our 
flood  friend,  Capt.  Elliot.  He  received  me  with  great 
kindness,  and  I  stopped  with  him  a  day  or  two.  His  wifo 
was  very  attentive  to  me,  and  the  captain  narrated  to  me 
the  events  of  his  life,  his  rights  with  the  Indians,  and  par 
ticularly  of  the  loss  of  a  fine  child  several  years  ago,  u  \u»n 
mysterious  disappearance  created  much  excitement  at  the 
time.  In  this  place  I  heard  a  sermon  that  went  to  show  that 
resistance  to  tyranny  was  obedience  to  God.  The  clergy 
throagboot  the  country  are  Puritans;  severe  in  their  di>o- 
pline,  and  bred  to  religious  and  |K>IiticaJ  contests.  They 
have  a  jjreat  influence  am  »n:  il .••  people.  This  influence 
is  not  confined  to  their  Hocks  alone, — a  popular  preacher  in 


152  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

known  through  a  whole  province.  The  sermon  that  I 
heard,  I  am  informed,  will  be  called  for  in  many  other 
places,  it  is  so  well  suited  to  the  taste  of  the  times.  The 
minor  minds  among  the  ecclesiastics  will  imitate  their  su 
periors,  and  the  pulpits  will  resound  with  political  disser 
tations,  instead  of  moral  homilies.  There  are  not  many 
lawyers  in  the  country,  but  they  are  not  more  loyal,  as  a 
body,  than  the  divines.  The  physicians,  with  a  few  ex 
ceptions,  are  whigs ;  so  that  in  case  of  a  rupture,  the  tories 
will  have  but  a  small  share  of  talent  in  comparison  with 
their  opponents. 

"  Governor  Wentworth  retains  no  small  share  of  his 
popularity.  He  has  been  of  great  use  to  the  province  of 
New-Hampshire,  by  introducing  new  breeds  of  cattle  and 
horses,  and  by  publishing  several  books  on  agriculture. 
This  is  the  way  to  benefit  a  nation.  Such  a  man  may 
literally 

'Read  his  history  in  a  nation's  eyes.' 

The  Governor  has,  near  Portsmouth,  laid  out  and  cultiva 
ted  a  fine  garden,  and  has  made  large  importations  of  fruit 
trees  and  shrubs  from  every  part  of  England,  and  from  the 
continent  of  Europe.  Not  content  with  his  agricultural 
and  horticultural  improvements  in  Rockingham  county, 
the  oldest  part  of  the  state,  he  penetrated  the  wilderness 
to  Winnipisiogee  Lake,  in  the  interior  of  the  state,  and 
commenced  farming  operations  on  a  large  scale ;  has  erect 
ed  a  mansion-house  and  several  farming-houses,  with 
barns  of  a  large  size,  and  great  convenience,  on  the  bor 
ders  of  this  most  beautiful  and  magnificent  sheet  of  water. 
The  lake  is  more  than  thirty  miles  in  circumference.  The 
water  is  pure,  depending  more  on  subterranean  springs 
than  from  tributary  streams.  The  fish  in  the  lake  are 
fine, — perch,  pike,  bass,  trout,  and  others,  good  for  the 
pan.  The  water  is  deep,  cool,  and  the  fish  abundant ;  in 
the  winter  season,  trout  of  a  large  kind,  weighing  from 
three  pounds  to  twelve  and  sixteen  pounds,  have  been 
caught  in  these  waters.  The  Governor  has  a  pair  of  moose 
deer,  caught  when  young,  and  broken  as  coach  horses, 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  153 

which  he  has  driven  several  times,  for  a  few  miles  at  a 
time.  His  park  is  surrounded  by  a  fence  fifteen  feet  in 
height,  as  these  animals  are  wonderful  in  their  leaps,  and 
can  only  be  taken  alive  when  the  snow  is  deep,  and  the 
crust  of  it  is  thick.  Sir  John  is  a  man  of  great  courtesy 
of  manners,  and  is  more  engaged  in  his  duties  as  a  lead 
ing  practical  farmer,  than  fighting  with  the  legislature,  as 
his  brother  governors  of  Massachusetts  and  New-York  are. 
But  it  is  not  the  popularity  of  one  man,  however  di>tin- 
guished  or  beloved,  to  stem  this  current  of  republican  ex 
pressions.  The  whole  of  his  province  are  opposed  to  his 
politics.  Still  he  is  popular,  as  he  avoids  all  matters  that 
may  bring  him  in  collision  with  the  people  or  their  repre 
sentatives. 

"  Your  son,  G.  D." 

"Dear  Father,— 

"  Since  my  last  letter,  the  excitement  has  been  in- 
onM-ing.  John  Hancock  delivered  the  oration  comme 
morating  the  massacre,  as  they  still  continue  to  call  the 
firing  of  the  soldiers  on  the  citizens  of  Boston,  notwith 
standing  it  was  clearly  proved  that  the  citizens  pelted  the 
soldiers  with  stones  and  pieces  of  ice,  previous  to  the  dis 
charge  of  a  musket.  The  oration  carried  out  the  doc 
trines  of  freedom  as  his  predecessors  have  promulgated, 
and  all  connection  is  broken  up  between  the  Governor 
and  Hancock ;  in  fact,  none  of  the  mandamus  council 
visit  him.  Your  friend  William  Vassal  read  me  a  long 
lecture  for  dining  with  Mr.  Hancock,  in  company  with 
Doctor  Cooper;  but  I  did  not  acknowledge  his  right  to 
direct  me,  still  I  thanked  him  for  his  solicitude.  The  Go 
vernor  has  an  obstinate  temper,  and,  it  is  thought,  not  fit 
for  his  place,  in  these  times  of  excitement.  The  Supreme 
Court  are  all  on  the  side  of  the  crown,  but  do  not  act  with 
any  decision  in  matters  involving  politics,  as  was  seen  in 
the  case  of  the  writs  of  assistance,  which  was  argued  se 
veral  years  ago,  but  has  not  been  decided  yet,  and  it  is  the 
general  belief  that  the  question  is  put  to  rest  for  ever.  The 

14 


154  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

whole  of  the  judicial  and  executive  parts  of  the  govern 
ment  have  no  energy,  except  by  irregular  impulses,  which 
inflames  instead  of  awing  the  people.  The  question  of 
taxation  is  one  never-ending  subject  of  dispute.  The 
people  say  they  are  not  represented  in  Parliament,  and 
will  not  be  taxed  by  that  body. 

"  My  college  life  has  become  an  unpleasant  one — and 
I  wish  your  permission  to  leave  the  country.  I  have  formed 
some  associations  which  I  shall  leave  with  regret.  Many 
of  my  acquaintances  are  looking  forward  to  distinction,  in 
case  of  a  contest  between  this  and  the  mother  country. 
Some  anticipate  the  glories  of  statesmen,  and  others  are 
preparing  for  the  field.  These  ardent  spirits  think  more 
of  personal  fame  and  national  honor,  than  of  the  hard 
ships  and  sufferings  in  store  for  them.  Clubs  are  formed, 
in  which  the  great  questions  of  the  rights  of  man  are  dis 
cussed  while  the  classics  are  neglected.  The  very 
thought  of  their  being  free  to  direct  themselves,  makes 
them  reckless  of  consequences.  I  repeat  my  request  to 
be  permitted  to  spend  a  few  years  in  France,  and  in  other 
countries  on  the  continent. 

"  Your  Son,  G.  D." 

"  P.  S.  My  mother  is  now  in  France  with  some  of  her 
friends.  I  should  be  happy  to  join  them." 

In  a  few  months  the  admiral  having  returned  from 
India,  gave  his  son  permission  to  return  to  England  by 
the  way  of  Jamaica.  He  sailed  for  Kingston  with  Capt. 
Elliot,  who  still  kept  up  the  West  India  trade.  On  their 
arrival  they  both  made  inquiries  after  Oakum  and  Bill 
Jones,  and  found  that,  if  they  were  living,  they  were  still 
in  the  mountains;  that  nothing  direct  had  been  heard  of 
them  since  the  night  Seka  was  missing.  The  forces 
of  Cudjo  had  now  become  numerous  and  powerful,  having 
obtained  a  supply  of  arms  by  a  stratagem.  At  the  sugges- 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  155 

lion  of  young  Dalrymple,  the  Gorcrnor  determined  to 
mako  some  efforts  to  induce  the  two  American  sailors 
to  leave  the  mountains.  The  Governor  pledged  himself  to 
make  no  inquiries  of  them,  to  give  them  a  pension  of 
seventy-five  pounds  a  year  each  for  their  natural  lives; 
clothe  them  well,  and  send  them  free  of  expense  to  their 
own  country.  Capt.  Elliot  undertook  to  get  the  Governor's 
letter  to  his  old  sailors,  but  this  was  not  easily  effected. 
He  added  one  of  his  own,  and  another  from  Dalrymple, 
who  urged  them  in  the  strongest  terms  to  accept  the  offers 
and  return.  On  the  fourth  day  after  the  letters  reached 
these  brave  fellows,  they  were  on  board  of  Capt.  Elliot's 
brig,  which  they  greeted  as  a  thing  of  life,  declaring  that 
she  looked  as  fresh  as  she  did  the  first  voyage.  The 
greetings  between  them  and  their  old  friends  were  truly 
hearty;  but  what  astonished  the  tars  the  most  was  to  see 
the  little  George  they  had  saved  from  the  hen-coop,  only 
four  years  before,  now  a  tall  elegant  man  ;  and  also  to 
find  that  he  had  been  to  college.  Bill  Jones  declared 
most  emphatically  with  an  oath,  that  he  could  sec  the 
very  flash  of  the  admiral's  eye,  every  time  George  spake, 
and  Oakum  thought  his  voice  resembled  Capt.  Elliot's; 
in  the  dark  he  said  he  should  not  know  them  apart. 
They  informed  their  friends  that  they  lived  in  ease  in  the 
mountains,  cultivating  a  garden,  and  making  and  rigging 
miniature  ships,  one  of  which  they  had  brought  with 
them  to  present  to  their  old  captain.  Seka,  they  said, 
was  married  to  Campaign,  a  maroon,  who  behaved  like  a 
gentleman  and  friend  to  the  sailors.  He  was  at  the  head 


156  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

of  the  army,  and  relieved  old  Cudjo  of  all  his  cares. 
They  explained  the  traces  of  blood  when  Seka  was 
carried  off,  as  flowing  from  Bill's  wound,  which  from  his 
exertions  bled  afresh.  The  Governor  acted  towards  them 
in  good  faith,  and  paid  them  their  year's  pension  in 
advance,  besides  giving  a  chest  of  clothes  to  each.  They 
took  passage  with  their  old  commander,  and  although  not 
required  to  do  any  labor,  they  would  keep  their  watch 
with  the  crew,  in  order,  as  they  said,  to  get  their  sea  legs 
again,  and  feel  a  little  like  sea-dogs  as  they  once  were. 
On  their  arrival,  they  were  greeted  by  their  old  mess 
mates  with  joy,  who  were  wonder-struck  when  they  heard 
that  both  had  a  pension  from  Jamaica.  Soon  after 
their  arrival,  not  wishing  to  go  to  sea  again,  these  old 
sailors  hired  a  sail-loft,  and  taught  seamanship.  They 
rigged  a  ship,  and  unrigged  her,  and  taught  green  hands 
their  duty  ;  who  flocked  to  them  to  learn  their  duty, 
in  splicing,  and  knotting,  and  cutting  rigging.  Their 
terms  for  instruction  were  low,  and  in  a  few  weeks  after 
they  had  commenced,  their  school  was  crowded — and  it 
was  said  they  were  very  happy  in  their  practical  methods 
of  teaching.  If  they  delivered  their  lectures  without  a 
dictionary,  they  were  well  versed  in  the  technicalities 
of  their  profession.  More  than  one  eminent  naval  com 
mander,  who  figured  in  the  American  navy,  from  1776, 
and  since,  was  a  pupil  to  Oakum  and  Jones. 

After  leaving  Jamaica,  Dalrymple  repaired  to  England, 
and  from  thence  to  the  continent ;  and  when  in  France, 
entered  as  a  cadet  in  the  military  school.  Among  the 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  15? 

otliccrs  who  were  the  teachers  in  the  engineer  corps,  was 
a  Polish  gentleman,  to  whom  Dalrymple  became  much 
attached.  lie  had  been  distinguished  for  the  extent 
of  his  acquirements,  and  the  gallantry  of  his  bearing  in  his 
native  country.  But  although  born  in  a  land  of  nobles, 
descended  from  one,  he  was  a  decided  republican,  and 
sought  Dalrymple  every  day,  to  learn  something  of  Ame- 
rica,  and  from  him  got  a  fair  insight  of  the  state  of  atlairs 
in  that  country,  and  an  opinion  that  an  appeal  to  arms 
would  take  place  shortly,  and  would  be  maintained  with 
the  greatest  pertinacity  by  both  parties.  Kosciuazko,  at  a 
Hash,  made  up  his  mind  to  join  the  republican  standard, 
and  to  give  them  the  advantages  of  his  science  and  skill. 
Dalrymple  did  not  at  that  time  think  that  his  father  would 
insist  on  his  joining  the  army  about  to  be  sent  to  subdue 
America.  News  soon  arrived  in  France  that  the  drama 
of  the  American  revolution  was  opened  by  the  battle 
of  Lexington,  and  this  followed  by  the  more  decided  one 
of  Bunker  Hill.  The  Polish  officer  soon  made  arrange 
ments  to  join  the  American  standard ;  taking  with  him 
the  highest  recommendations  from  Frenchmen  and  Poles 
of  military  distinction.  At  his  departure  Dalrymple  gave 
him  a  letter  to  John  Hancock,  stating  his  merits  as  an 
engineer  and  as  a  gentleman,  regretting,  however,  that 
his  services  should  be  wanted  in  America. 

The  situation  of  the  colonies  the  next  year  was  sad 
indeed  ;  the  campaign  of  1770  was  almost  a  continued 
scene  of  disasters  on  the  side  of  the  Americans,  and 

success  on  the  part  of  the  British.     The  battles  fought. 

14* 


158  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

determined  in  favor  of  the  latter  until  the  American  army 
crossed  the  Delaware,  and  fought  the  battle  of  Trenton. 

Early  in  the  next  year,  1777,  it  was  known  that  Bur- 
goyne  was  to  march  from  Canada,  to  join  the  forces  at 
New- York,  and  fix  upon  a  line  of  defence  from  the  lakes 
to  the  harbor  of  New- York.  This  would,  in  their  opinion, 
effectually  divide  the  south  from  the  east,  and  finish  the 
contest.  Admiral  Dalrymple  had  too  much  at  stake  to 
be  indifferent  to  the  struggle,  and  at  once  purchased  his 
son  a  majority  in  General  Frazer's  grenadiers.  The 
father  thought  that  the  son  would  not  be  pleased  with  this 
step,  but  his  orders  were  not  to  be  disputed,  and  with  his 
commission  he  sent  him  deeds  of  large  parcels  of  land  in 
various  parts  of  the  country,  with  a  long  letter,  telling  him 
that  as  he  was  now  independent,  he  hoped  that  he  would 
have  spirit  enough  to  defend  his  property.  Major  Dal 
rymple  was  soon  a  pet  of  Burgoyne,  and  was  selected  as 
one  of  his  aids,  which  kept  him  constantly  employed.  He 
was  daily  urging  the  general,  if  he  intended  to  reach 
New- York  in  season,  that  no  time  should  be  wasted,  and 
gave  it  as  his  opinion,  that  when  it  was  known  that  the  army 
was  at  Fort  Ticonderoga,  that  all  New-England  would 
swarm  on  the  frontiers.  Burgoyne  smiled  at  his  opinion 
of  his  foes,  and  playfully  observed,  "Major,  as  soon  as 
I  arrive  at  New- York,  and  have  refreshed  my  army,  for  a 
few  days,  I  shall  send  you  with  the  advance  guard  on  to 
Boston,  to  take  the  oaths  of  allegiance  of  all  your  old 
friends.  I  wish  you  to  tell  Hancock  that  he  shall  not 
be  hanged,  but  shot  as  a  gentleman  and  a  soldier."  The 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  159 

young  officer,  bowing,  replied,  "  I  shall  always  be  happy 
to  obey  your  commands."  But  his  look  was  so  solemn,  as 
to  induce  the  commander-in-chief,  as  soon  as  Dalrymple 
had  gone,  to  observe  to  Frazer,  "  That  spirited  youth, 
whose  bravery  cannot  be  questioned,  has  imbibed  strange 
ideas  in  regard  to  Yankee  courage.  It  is  true  they  gave 
us  a  pretty  fair  specimen  at  Bunker  Hill,  but  that  affair 
stands  by  itself."  Frazer  made  no  response. 

When  it  was  known  in  New-England,  that  Burgoyne 
was  advancing  from  Canada,  the  tocsin  was  sounded  at 
every  corner,  the  whole  mass  of  people  were  in  agitation, 
and  large  drafts  were  made  to  meet  the  enemy. 

Captain  Elliot,  who  had  been  an  officer  in  the  last 
French  war,  was  now  appointed  Colonel  of  a  regiment, 
and  again  girded  on  his  sword  and  marched  to  Saratoga. 
The  capture  of  Count  Baum  and  his  troops,  by  General 
Stark,  had  revived  the  spirits  of  the  soldiers  of  the  main 
army  under  Gates,  and  they  were  waiting  with  no  small 
anxiety  for  battle,  sure  of  victory,  when  Colonel  Elliot 
arrived.  On  the  13th  and  14th  of  September,  Burgoyne, 
with  thirty  days'  provisions,  crossed  the  Hudson,  and 
encamped  on  the  heights  and  plains  of  Saratoga.  Gates 
was  above  Still  water.  On  the  night  of  the  17th,  the 
British  General  moved  onward,  and  encamped  within  four 
miles  of  the  American  army,  and  about  mid-day,  on  the 
19th,  advanced  in  full  force  against  it.  The  right 
wing  was  commanded  by  General  Burgoyne,  and  covered 
by  General  Frazer,  and  Colonel  Breyman,  with  the  grena 
diers  and  light  infantry,  were  posted  along  some  high 


160  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

grounds  on  the  right.  The  front  and  flanks  were  covered 
by  Indians,  Provincials,  and  Canadians.  The  left  wing 
and  artillery  were  commanded  by  the  Major  Generals 
Phillips  and  Reidisel,  who  proceeded  along  the  great 
road.  Colonel  Morgan,  who  was  detached  to  observe 
their  motions,  and  to  harass  them  as  they  advanced,  soon 
fell  in  with  the  pickets  in  the  front  of  their  right  wing, 
attacked  them  sharply,  and  drove  them  in ;  they  were 
supported,  but  at  length  were  forced  to  give  way.  Rein 
forcements  on  both  sides  made  the  battle  general.  Colo 
nel  Elliot,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  Indian  fighting, 
was  ordered  to  attack  the  flanking  parties  of  Indians  and 
Canadians.  This  order  was  executed  with  great  prompti 
tude.  The  Indians  and  Canadians  were  beaten.  A 
small  body  of  Indians  seemed  determined  to  sell  their 
lives  as  dearly  as  possible.  They  had  taken  possession 
of  an  eminence  containing  but  a  few  acres,  and  had  made 
up  their  minds  to  die  rather  than  surrender.  Colonel 
Elliot  took  his  right  battalion  and  led  the  attack  in  person. 
The  contest  was  desperate.  The  young  Indian  warrior, 
the  chief  of  the  party,  was  full  of  fight  when  the  attack 
was  made  upon  him.  Elliot  marked  the  desperado, 
with  intention  to  push  him  to  single  combat.  One  with 
drawn  sword,  and  the  other  with  an  uplifted  tomahawk 
began  the  fight.  Elliot  was  skilful  with  his  weapon,  and 
the  Indian  as  agile  as  a  mountain  cat.  The  Colonel's 
foot  slipped  and  brought  him  on  his  knee.  The  Indian 
advanced  to  give  the  finishing  stroke  with  his  tomahawk, 
when  he  uttered  a  scream,  let  fall  his  weapon,  and 


THE    LOST    CHILD. 


161 


threw  his  arms  around  Colonel  Elliot's  neck.  He  had  a 
few  words  of  English  at  his  command,  but  was  too  much 
agitated  to  use  them  correctly.  One  of  the  regiment 
rushed  on  to  strike  the  Indian  to  the  heart.  Colonel 
Elliot  seized  the  bayonet  and  prevented  the  deed.  At 
this  moment,  an  Indian  woman  sprung  from  the  thicket, 
waving  the  tatters  of  an  old  bandana  handkerchief,  and 
cried  out,  "Don't  you  know  your  son — your  Monegan  !" 
The  story  of  his  saving  the  child,  although  more  than 
twenty  years  had  elapsed,  came  fresh  to  his  mind.  The 
bandana  had  been  preserved,  "  as  a  medicine"  and  the 
features  of  the  white  man  had  not  been  forgotten.  Mone 
gan  was  now  a  chief,  and  his  mother  had  attended  him  to 
see  that  he  did  not  disgrace  his  father's  glory.  The 
Indian  prisoners  were  conducted  to  the  camp  and  treated 
with  the  greatest  kindness.  The  commander-in-chief 
was  made  acquainted  with  the  whole  circumstances,  and 
loading  Monegan  and  his  mother  with  presents  of  cloth 
ing  and  trinkets,  gave  them  their  liberty  with  all  the  other 
Indian  prisoners.  The  effects  of  this  treatment  were 
incalculable.  In  four  days  every  Indian  had  deserted  the 
British  General.  Monegan  and  his  mother  had  produced 
the  effect.  He  declaring  that  he  could  not  fight  against 
his  second  father,  and  she  prophesying  that  Burgoyne 
would  be  taken.  Still  the  Indian  woman,  with  her  son, 
hovered  around  the  camp,  thinking  that  they  might  be  of 
some  service  to  their  friend,  the  white  man,  in  case  he 
was  taken  by  the  English. 

In  the  second  battle  with  the  British,  which  took  place 


162  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

on  the  7th  day  of  October,  1777,  Colonel  Elliot  was 
opposed  to  Frazer's  grenadiers,  but  Major  Dalrymple 
was  then  acting  aid  to  the  British  commander-in-chief, 
and  of  course  could  pay  no  particular  attention  to  his  own 
corps.  In  this  battle  Colonel  Elliot  was  wounded  and 
taken  prisoner.  This  was  instantly  made  known  to 
Burgoyne.  Major  Dalrymple  suspecting  the  prisoner  to 
be  his  friend,  from  the  exposed  situation  in  which  he  last 
saw  him,  gave  orders  to  have  the  wounded  officer  carried 
to  his  own  tent,  and  directed  the  surgeon  of  the  staff  to 
attend  him,  who  on  examining  his  wounds,  declared  that 
he  was  in  no  jeopardy  of  life,  requiring  only  attentive 
nursing.  On  the  close  of  the  battle,  so  disastrous  to  the 
British  cause,  Major  Dalrymple  entered  his  tent  with 
gloomy  feelings  ;  he  found  that  his  apprehensions  were  too 
true.  His  friend  was  in  a  delirium  before  him ;  the 
battle  had  discouraged  the  British  troops,  and  inspired  the 
colonists  with  new  ardor.  He  trod  his  own  tent  with 
caution,  fearing  to  wake  the  wounded  man.  When  the 
latter  awoke,  he  found  that  there  was  a  small  lamp  throw 
ing  a  pale  and  dim  light  from  behind  a  screen,  and  a 
gentleman  in  a  night-coat  watching  his  slumbers.  The 
wounded  man  had  been  insensible  until  this  moment, 
from  his  fall.  He  saw  that  he  was  a  prisoner  from  the 
splendor  of  the  furniture  of  the  tent.  He,  lifting  his 
head,  faintly  inquired,  "  To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  such 
kindness  as  this  ?"  "  To  an  old  friend,"  was  the  reply  : 
"  pray  compose  yourself  until  the  morrow,  and  then  you 
shall  know  all."  "  Answer  me  one  question  now,  for 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  1G3 

to-morrow's  sun  may  never  shine  on  my  couch :  Have  my 
countrymen  been  disgraced  V  "  No,"  was  the  reply, 
*'  your  honor  is  safe.  Your  regiment  fought  most  bravely. 
Your  horse  fell  on  you,  or  you  would  have  been  brounht 
off  by  your  soldiers.  Go  to  sleep;  you  have  nothing 
to  regret,  but  your  own  misfortunes."  An  anodyne  was 
administered,  and  the  wounded  officer  calmly  went  to 
rest  As  the  day  dawned,  both  camps  were  in  motion. 
The  British  were  about  retiring,  and  the  American  army 
preparing  to  follow  them.  A  flag  of  truce  was  sent  into 
General  Gates's  camp,  offering  to  exchange  Colonel  Klliut 
This  was  soon  effected.  Major  Dairy mple  did  not  intend 
that  it  should  be  known  that  he  was  the  person  who  spent 
the  night  by  the  American  officer's  bed-side,  but  the  sick 
man  knew  the  tones  of  his  friend's  voice,  and  wanderingly 
observed,  "  This  must  be  George.  Cursed  be  civil  wars, 
that  arm  brother  against  brother,  and  break  up  the  ties  of 
friendship."  Burgoyne  soon  retired  from  his  position,  and 
attempting  a  retreat,  found  himself  quite  surrounded. 
Calling  a  council  of  war,  it  was  agreed  to  enter  into 
a  convention  of  surrender.  This  was  done  on  fair  terms, 
all  things  considered.  The  officers  were  to  retain  their 
arms  and  their  private  property ;  public  property  to  be 
given  up.  Major  Dalrymple  was  one  of  the  commission 
ers,  and  proved  to  his  friends  that  he  was  as  diplomatic 
as  brave.  The  caution,  prudence,  and  tact,  shown  in  the 
treaty  of  convention,  gave  Burgoyne  a  high  idea  of  young 
Dalrymple's  talents.  Nothing  was  forgotten  but  a  stipula 
tion  for  a  particular  tune,  by  which  the  captured  should 


164  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

march  out  to  lay  down  their  arms.  The  ceremony  was 
solemn  and  imposing ;  veteran  soldiers,  passing  between 
two  lines  of  raw  militia,  to  surrender  their  arms  and 
themselves,  reserving  to  themselves  only  the  honors  of 
war,  was  no  common  sight.  The  instant  the  march  began, 
the  American  band  struck  up  "  Yankee  Doodle."  This 
was  unforeseen,  and  made  a  deep  impression  on  officers  and 
soldiers  of  both  armies.  This  song  had  been  written  by 
a  facetious  English  surgeon,  at  Lake  George,  in  playful 
ridicule  of  some  raw  companies  of  Provincials  who  had 
come  to  the  frontiers  to  assist  Loudon  in  his  campaign 
against  the  French.  The  Provincials  were  gay,  if  not 
disciplined,  and  the  surgeon  made  music  out  of  their 
primitive  notes  of  mirth.  From  the  moment  it  was 
played  by  the  American  band  in  the  surrender  of  Bur- 
goyne,  it  has  been  a  national  air. 

As  soon  as  this  ceremony,  so  joyous  to  one  party  and 
so  unpleasant  to  the  other,  was  finished,  Major  Dalrymple 
repaired  forthwith  to  his  friend's  quarters,  and  was  happy 
to  find  that  he  was  rapidly  convalescing.  General  Gates, 
understanding  the  friendship  that  existed  between  the  two 
officers,  accepted  the  parole  of  the  Major  to  accompany 
the  wounded  Colonel  to  his  home  in  Massachusetts.  A 
wagon  was  procured,  and  they  moved  on  slowly  but 
safely.  The  Major  rode  on  horseback,  with  his  body- 
servant  in  attendance,  well  mounted,  and  by  easy  stages 
saw  the  Colonel  at  his  own  house  in  about  ten  days,  much 
recovered  from  his  wounds.  By  particular  influence,  Ma- 
jor  Dalrymple  went  to  England  without  any  pledge  to  re- 


THE    LOST    C11ILD.  165 

turn;  and,  by  the  influence  of  his  family  connections,  was 
soon  returned  to  Parliament,  his  father  being  satisfied  of 
the  last  campaign.  His  parliamentary  course  was  highly 
satisfactory  to  the  Admiral.  He  thought  his  boy  could 
speak  as  well  as  himself.  He  ranked  himself  on  the  side 
of  the  ministry,  but  was  respected  by  the  opposition,  as  he 
stated  every  thing  as  he  had  seen,  in  his  residence  in 
America.  When  Burgoyne  was  attacked,  he  defended 
him,  and  in  his  arguments  showed  not  only  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  his  profession,  but  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  all  the  points  in  dispute ;  and  no  young  member  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  except  Charles  James  Fox,  was 
more  highly  respected  for  talents.  He  never  resigned  his 
commission  in  the  army,  but  contented  himself  with  his 
parliamentary  duties,  until  after  his  country  got  into  a 
war  with  France.  He  was  now  promoted  to  a  full  colo 
nelcy,  and  was  sent  to  Egypt  with  Sir  Ralph  Abercrombie. 
Colonel  John  Moore,  afterwards  the  celebrated  Sir  John 
Moore,  was  his  particular  friend  in  this  campaign.  In 
this  wild  and  extraordinary  expedition,  he,  with  the  rest, 
won  laurels  of  lasting  green.  While  in  Egypt,  Colonel 
Dalrymple  viewed  every  thing  in  his  power ;  and  this  cra 
dle  of  the  world  affords  much  for  the  contemplation  of  the 
philosopher  and  the  antiquarian.  On  his  return  he  visited 
Canada,  to  dispose  of  some  of  his  lands  and  to  look  after 
others.  On-  his  way  home,  he  took  a  journey  across  the 
country  from  Albany,  to  see  his  old  friend  Colonel  Elliot  ; 
and  it  pained  the  gallant  English  officer  to  find  the  Ameri 
can  patriot  in  poverty  and  distress.  His  property,  which 

15 


166  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

had  been  considerable,  from  his  mercantile  and  maritime 
industry,  had  all  been  thrown  into  the  state  and  national 
treasury,  for  the  purposes  of  carrying  on  the  revolutionary 
war.     At  one  time  he  had  advanced  to  the  American 
army  ten  thousand  Spanish  milled  dollars,  and  took  paper 
money  for  the  same.     That  paper  was  now  in  his  pos 
session  ;  but  for  the  pledge  of  the  whole  of  it  he  could  not 
purchase  a  suit  of  clothes.     He  had  also  large  quantities 
of  other  emissions  of  paper,  in  pay  for  advances  to  his 
men,  and  for  his  own  services ;  but  yet  all  of  it  would  not 
keep  the  bailiff  from  his  door,  for  a  few  hundred  of  dollars 
his  family  had  borrowed  while  he  was  absent  in  the  army, 
thinking  that  his  hordes  of  paper  money,  which  every  body 
knew  he  had,  would  be  redeemed,  and  all  would  soon  be 
settled.     The  spirits  of  the  veteran  were  broken  down, 
and  his  body  was  tortured  with  rheumatic  pains.     His 
wife  had  become  blind, — his  furniture  had  been  taken  and 
sold  for  a  mere  trifle, — his  whole  soul  was  sick ;  and  when 
Colonel  Dalrymple  sent  in  his  name,  for  he  lingered  still 
in  his  former  mansion,  although  there  was  nothing  in  it 
but  what  a  niggardly  law  allowed  to  keep  men  from  abso 
lute  starvation, — he  denied  himself,  and  said  to  his  sister, 
"  Go  and  tell  that  princely  friend,  that  I  am  a  miserable,  dy 
ing  wretch,  having  lost  all  for  my  country,  and  cannot  and 
will  not  see  him."    "  By  heaven,  he  shall !"  said  Dalrymple 
with  energy,  and  took  possession  of  the  door ;  "  lead  me, 
instantly/'  said  he,  in  a  tone  that  could  not  be  refused, 
"  to  his  room."     In  a  moment  they  were  in  each  others 
embraces,  and  both  wept  like  children.     The  blind  wife 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  167 

instantly  came  into  the  room,  having  heard  the  conversa 
tion.     Dalrymple  kissed  her  hand,  and  said  to  her,  "  Be 
still,  all  our  evils  are  over."     A  note  was  written  to  the 
host  of  the  inn  where  the  stranger  had  taken  up  his  lodg 
ings,  to  send  a  dinner,  servants,  &c.,  which  came  in  due 
season.     The  three  had  just  finished  their  repast,  when 
the  door  was  unceremoniously  opened,  and  a  broad-shoul 
dered  cripple,  with  a  crutch  under  his  left  arm,  and  a  cane 
in  his  right  hand,  with  the  gray  hairs  straggling  about  his 
head,  entered  the  room.     This  was  old  Oakum.     He  said, 
that  hearing  of  the  coming  of  the  boy  George,  he    had 
swallowed  his  grub,  and  started  without  a  moment's  warn 
ing.      Colonel   Dalrymple   inquired   if  Jones  was  living. 
"  No,"  said  Oakum,  "  he  slipt  his  cable  about  two  years 
ago,  in  a  right  trim,  as  the  parson  says,  and  has  gone,  he 
has  no  doubt,  to  a  good  snug  harbor.     He  left  me  all  he 
was  worth.     The  parson  thought  it  would  not  hold,  as  the 
paper  had  only  his  name  to  it,  and  Bill  Shackford's;   but 
the  giant  of  the  law  told  me  not  to  mind  the  parson  on 
such  a  subject, — every  one  to  his  trade, — the  whole  world 
should  not  get  it  from  me,  and  so  it  turned  out.     I  have  it 
now.     I  offered  the  lawyer  a  yellow  boy;  'No,  no,  Oak 
um,'  said  he,  '  when  I  want  to  rig  a  ship,  I  will  send  for 
you  to  help  me.'     These  lawyers  are  sometimes  good  fel 
lows,  in  spite  of  all  they  say  against  them.     I  don't  believe 
they  have  more  to  do  with  old  cloven-foot  than  other  folks. 
Now,  George,  my  boy," — the  old  sailor  at  one  moment  felt 
all  the  reverence  and  respect  for  a  great  British  officer,  and 
then  could  not,  would  not,  think  of  him  in  any  other  light 


168  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

than  the  boy  on  the  hen-coop,—"  I  have  something  to  tell, 
which  I  should  not  have  dared  said  to  my  old  captain  here  : 
and  that  is,  I  got  old  omnium  gatherum  Beak,  who  deals 
in  all  trash,  from  a  needle  to  an  anchor,  and  from  a  spun- 
yarn  to  a  cable,  to  bid  in  for  me  all  the  things  sold  here 
t'other  day.  He  got  them  all ;  and  I  have  them  now  all 
stowed  away,  waiting  for  a  time  to  take  off  the  lock  and 
key."  "  Send  them  all,  my  good  old  friend,  directly  here 
to-morrow  morning,"  said  Colonel  Dalrymple  ;  "  you  and  I 
will  see  that  matter  put  according  to  Gunter."  "  It  is 
not  much,  I  assure  you,"  said  Oakum,  "  for  when  old 
Beck  gave  a  hint,  nobody  would  bid  on  them,  so  they 
went  off  plaguey  low."  The  same  giant  of  the  law  was 
sent  for,  and  papers  of  great  length  passed  between  the 
two  friends,  Elliot  and  Dalrymple.  The  latter  gave  Oak 
um  a  dinner  at  his  boarding-house,  and  informed  the  host 
that  Captain  Oakum  would  dine  with  him  that  day,  and  if 
he  knew  his  taste,  to  cater  for  it ;  and  Oakum  was  requested 
to  invite  his  friends.  This  courtesy  he  extended  to  a  few 
old  sea  captains,  who  ever  afterward  called  him  Captain 
Oakum.  From  the  hour  that  Colonel  Dalrymple  met  his 
old  friend  Elliot,  it  was  remarked  that  he  was  another 
man,  and  that  his  wife  was  altogether  changed.  It  was 
known  to  some  that  the  Admiral  had  died  leaving  a  large 
estate,  and  that  the  Colonel,  his  son,  was  his  principal 
heir.  Some  of  the  inquisitive  made  gentle  inquiries,  but 
had  no  satisfactory  answer,  and  when  this  was  known,  the 
family  were  no  longer  troubled  with  questions  from  any 
quarter.  The  blessings  of  competency  were  soon  seen 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  169 

and  felt.  Colonel  Dairy mple  visited  the  Elliots  every  day, 
and  he  continued  his  stay  through  aJl  the  shooting  season, 
which  was  very  excellent  in  that  country.  Late  in  Novem 
ber  the  friends  parted  with  great  emotion.  This  the 
neighbors  saw,  as  they  bade  a  last  adieu  to  each  other. 
Mrs.  Elliot  soon  found  partial  relief  from  her  blindness ; 
and  the  Colonel  took  a  journey  to  spend  the  winter  at  the 
south.  For  many  years  he  saw  his  family  well  settled 
around  him,  before  he  and  his  wife  sunk  to  rest,  with  se 
renity  and  faith.  In  about  seven  or  eight  years  from  the 
death  of  Colonel  Elliot,  the  account  of  the  death  of  Major 
General  Dalrymple  reached  the  United  States.  His  exit 
\v  as  sudden  as  a  flash  of  light,  from  angina  pectoris.  He 
had  served  in  the  West  Indies  for  several  years  previous 
to  his  death,  but  at  length  he  found  that  the  climate  had 
injured  his  hardy  constitution  beyond  all  hopes  of  perfect 
restoration,  but  still  believed  that  he  might,  with  great 
care,  attend  his  duties  in  Parliament  for  many  years  to 
come ;  but  in  this  he  was  disappointed.  After  a  great 
effort  in  the  House  of  Commons,  he  instantly  expired,  with 
;i  sentence  on  his  lips  stating  to  a  friend  how  much  he  felt 
exhausted. 

With  the  information  of  the  General's  death,  came 
several  trunks  to  the  heirs  of  Colonel  Elliot,  and  an  au 
thenticated  copy  of  the  General's  will,  giving  and  granting 
to  them  by  name  certain  real  estate  in  America,  and  also 
a  quantity  of  United  States'  stock.  The  great  bulk  of  his 
fortune,  which  was  very  large,  he  gave  to  his  daughter, 

at  the  time  of  his  death  the  wife  of  a  distinguished  states- 

15* 


170  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

man  in  England.  The  General  had  been  married  whilr 
an  officer  in  Canada,  to  a  fine  woman  of  Montreal,  a  de 
scendant  of  one  of  the  old  French  families,  who  remained 
there  after  the  peace  of  1763.  He  never  saw  her  after  the 
army  began  its  march.  She  died  in  a  few  weeks  after  she 
had  heard  the  news  of  the  capture  of  the  British  army, 
leaving  a  daughter  only  ten  days  old.  This  child  was 
educated  in  a  convent  in  France,  and  brought  out  under 
the  care  of  her  father  in  England.  She  was  a  reigning 
belle  for  two  winters,  and  then  was  married  to  her  father's 
wishes,  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  her  connections. 

The  trunk,  containing  deeds  and  other  papers  from  the 
deceased,  was  left  at  a  counsellor's  office  for  a  thorough 
examination  and  arrangement,  in  order  that  those  which 
ought  to  be  preserved  should  be  put  on  record,  and  the 
others  filed  away.  A  sale  of  a  portion  of  the  lands  be 
queathed  was  advised,  as  money  in  commerce,  at  that  time, 
was  thought  better  than  lands  of  any  kind.  In  pursuance 
of  this  duty,  the  lawyer  found  at  the  bottom  of  the  trunk 
a  bundle  of  papers  covered  with  oil-cloth,  and  sealed  with 
great  care.  In  it  he  found  a  letter  addressed  from  the 
Admiral  to  his  son,  informing  him  of  the  contents  of  his 
will,  that  he  was  made  sole  heir,  after  a  few  legacies,  but 
at  the  same  time  sent  him  a  sealed  paper,  to  be  opened 
when  he  should  hear  of  his  father's  decease.  An  endorse 
ment  was  on  this  paper,  naming  the  time  he  had  been 
made  acquainted  with  his  father's  death,  and  of  the  open- 
ing  of  trie  paper.  Along  side  of  the  paper  was  one  in 
the  hand-writing  of  the  General,  both  going  to  prove  that 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  171 

Major  General  George  Dairymple  was  the  identical  lost 
child  of  Colonel  Elliot.  The  gist  of  the  story  is  this. 
Captain  Dairymple  had  been  stationed  at  Boston,  to 
watch  the  coast  to  Halifax,  previous  to  and  during  a 
part  of  the  war  of  1755,  as  it  was  called.  During  his 
command,  he  was  ordered  to  visit  the  frontiers  to  give  ad 
vice  in  transporting  artillery  and  munitions  of  war  to  Lake 
George.  As  he  was  on  the  frontiers,  his  son,  only  two 
years  of  age,  sickened  with  the  croup  and  suddenly  died, 
and  he  hastened  with  his  half  distracted  wife  to  the  Atlan 
tic  sea-board.  The  fleet  had  sailed  he  knew,  and  he  took 
an  eastern  port  in  his  way,  for  he  had  heard  of  a  fine  ship 
just  ready  for  sea,  which  was  to  be  sent  to  England  for 
sale.  This  was  purchased,  and  soon  got  ready  for  sea. 
His  wife  was  now  conducted  to  the  ship,  to  see  her  accom 
modations,  and  give  her  orders.  On  her  last  visit  to  the 
ship,  she  saw  a  child,  about  the  age  of  her  own  she  had 
lost,  playing  with  a  little  dog.  She  took  them  into  her 
cabin,  and  tied  round  the  child's  neck  a  coral  and  bells, 
which  had  been  a  present  to  her  child.  The  boy,  as  it 
was  warm,  soon  went  to  sleep,  and  she  placed  him  in  her 
berth,  and  the  little  dog  jumped  in  beside  him.  In  the 
midst  of  bustle  and  preparation,  she  forgot  the  circum 
stance.  It  was  soon  announced  that  the  wind  was  fair 
and  fresh,  that  the  pilot  was  on  board,  and  all  things  ready 
for  the  voyage.  The  ship  saluted  the  town  as  she  left  it, 
and  she  was  soon  out  of  sight,  sailing  as  she  did  at  least 
ten  knots  an  hour.  Captain  Dairymple  was  busy  in  watch 
ing  her  motions,  and  was  delighted  to  find  her  so  fast  and 


172  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

manageable.  As  the  shades  of  night  came  on,  the  exhaust 
ed  lady  was  about  to  retire,  and  was  making  some  adjust 
ment  of  her  mattress,  she  uttered  a  shriek  of  distress,  for 
in  her  berth  she  found  both  child  and  dog.     "  Oh !  his 
mother,  his  mother !"  broke,  in  the  wildest  tones,  from  her 
lips.     "  She  is  distracted  by  this  time — good  God !  good 
God  !  what  shall  I  do !"     From  this  paroxysm  she  fell  into 
a  state  of  torpor  and  almost   insensibility.     When  Mrs. 
Dalrymple  came  out  of  this  state  of  mind,  she  said  to  her 
husband,  "  Did  not  God  send  this  child  to  us  to  supply  the 
place  of  our  own?     Ours  was  taken  away  from  us  sudden 
ly,  and  this  as  wonderfully  given  to  us;"  and  before  the 
sun  arose,  they  had  come  to  a  determination  to  adopt  the 
child  with  the  name  of  their  own.     An  Irish  female  ser 
vant  was  the  only  one  who  had  the  secret,  and  she  was 
faithful  to  the  highest  example,  even  to  death.     Entering 
into  the  scheme  most  cordially,  to  please  her  mistress,  she 
made  some  admirable  arrangements.     In  the  morning  the 
child  was  dressed  in  the  best  clothes  of  the  deceased  :  it 
was  a  green  and  gold  hermaphrodite  dress ;  such  as  indi 
cated,  but  did  not  unequivocally  decide  the  sex  of  the  in 
fant.     With  this  dress,  and  the  bells  and  coral,   he  did 
not  complain,  and  before  the  week  was  passed  forgot  his 
cradle  and  his  home ;   probably  having  at  home  been  in 
some  degree  neglected  by  some  new  comer  in  the  list  of 
sons  and  daughters  of  the  family.     If  there  had  been  a 
sailor  on  board  who  had  seen  the  urchin  at  home,  in  his 
new  dress,  he  would  not  have  known  him.     In  justice  to 
this  good  woman,  it  must  be  said,  that  she  was  the  fondest 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  173 

mother  to  her  adopted  offspring,  and  petted  him  so  much 
in  childhood,  that  the  admiral  sent  him  from  home  to 
school,  that  she  might  not  ruin  him  by  indulgence.  The 
Admiral  knew  that  he  was  the  founder  of  his  own  for 
tunes,  and  could  do  no  injustice  to  any  hereditary  claims 
by  the  course  he  was  pursuing. 

When  the  General  read  his  father's  letter,  he  remem 
bered  the  story  of  his  American  friend  of  the  loss  of  a 
child,  and  at  once  he  was  anxious  to  get  at  the  whole  of 
this  interesting  story.  He  entertained  the  wish,  in  a  strong 
degree  inherent  in  all  minds,  to  know  distinctly  his  origin. 
On  his  last  visit  to  the  United  States,  he  made  minute  in 
quiries  respecting  the  sailing  of  the  St.  George,  the  vessel 
bought  and  named  by  his  father,  and  compared  the  date 
with  the  one  in  the  paper  sent  him.  He  talked  with  Mrs. 
Elliot  respecting  the  precise  time  of  the  loss  of  her  child. 
She  said  he  had  a  mark  on  his  left  hand,  the  scar  of  a 
burn.  The  whole  circumstances  were  brought  to  agree 
with  circumstances  and  impressions  in  his  own  mind,  and 
by  slow  degrees  he  communicated  the  whole  story  to  the 
Colonel  and  his  wife.  All,  the  whole  course  of  these 
events,  made  the  proofs  irresistible  in  the  minds  of  parents 
and  child.  Indeed,  the  mother  thought  the  child  was  not 
sent  into  Egypt  without  the  consent  of  the  Lord,  who  now 
had  it  in  his  heart  and  power  to  bring  succor  to  them  all ; 
but  with  the  prudence  of  a  good  woman,  she  thought,  for 
her  son's  sake,  that  this  ought  not  to  be  known,  as  it  would 
do  them  no  good,  and  might  injure  her  son  among  the 
high-born  in  England.  This  prudent  counsel  prevailed, 


174  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

and  the  secret  died  with  the  parents,  as  it  regarded  them ; 
but  father  and  mother  bore  on  their  bnfws  until  the  hour 
of  their  departure,  as  if  written  with  a  sun-beam,  "  This 
is  my  son,  who  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again ;  iclw  was  lost, 
and  is  found."  Parents  and  child  have  gone  long  since 
to  their  graves,  and  the  story  is  told  to  vindicate  the  ways 
of  God  to  man, 


MY    DOG 

'•  I  blame  you  not  for  praising  Caesar  so." 

THE  affectionate  faithfulness  of  the  dog  has  been  a 
theme  of  praise  ever  since  man  has  recorded  a  thought  of 
his  brain,  or  spoke  of  the  pulsation  of  his  heart.  More 
than  twenty-seven  hundred  years  ago,  the  great  master  of 
epics  and  novels  devoted  some  of  his  loveliest  pages  to"~ 
ARGUS,  the  faithful  and  intelligent  dog  who  owned  the 
wise  Ulysses  for  a  master.  Homer,  who  knew  human 
nature  as  well  as  any  bard,  since  that  day,  knew  also  the 
character  of  those  friends  of  man,  the  dog  and  the  horse. 
On  each  he  has  bestowed  some  of  his  most  splendid 
passages.  The  story  of  Argus  is  deeply  affecting.  He 
knew  his  master's  voice  and  step,  after  an  absence  of 
twenty  years,  when  all  his  subjects  had  forgotten  him, 
and  when  even  Penelope,  the  queen  of  connubial  chastity, 
no  longer  remembered  the  person  of  the  husband  of  her 
youth,  and  his  old  father  had  lost  every  trace  of  the  image 
of  his  son.  I  had  once  a  friend  like  Argus,  of  equal 
blood  and  breed  to  any  royal  pack  that  ever  uttered  a  full 
mouth  cry  in  the  chase,  and  as  affectionate  and  sagaciom 
a  dog  as  ever  hunted  for  the  bewildered  traveller  among 
the  Alpine  snows.  He  died  young,  cut  off  by  ruthlest 


176  MY    DOG. 

violence,  before  he  could  bear  witness  to  the  ingratitude 
of  civilized  man,  by  long  neglect,  as  poor  Argus  did. 
Since  his  murder,  I  have  an  hundred  times  read  the 
eloquent  biography  of  Argus,  and  as  often  made  up  my 
mind  to  pay  a  humble  tribute  to  my  dog  Julius  Caesar. 
This  I  shall  now  attempt,  after  quoting  that  noble  tribute 
to  Argus,  which  is  to  be  found  in  the  Odyssey.  There 
has  never  lived  a  monarch,  warrior,  philosopher,  or  states 
man  in  the  annals  of  time,  whose  fame  is  so  sweetly 
embalmed  by  the  Muse,  as  that  of  Argus  ;  even  great 
Hector's  shade  might  envy  the  fame  of  Argus,  and  the 
far-darting  Apollo,  with  the  rays  of  wisdom  bursting  from 
his  head,  has  never  been  brought  down  among  mortals 
with  more  poetic  beauty  than  was  used  to  give  immortality 
to  the  faithful  dog  of  Ulysses.  The  tribute  I  pay  to 
Julius  Caesar  has  neither  epic  dignity  nor  mellifluous 
rhyme ;  but  the  virtues  of  the  latter  hero  will  place  him 
along  side  of  him  of  Ithica,  not  indeed  in  history,  but  in 
the  affections  of  his  master. 

"Thus  near  the  gates,  conferring  as  they  drew, 
Argus,  the  dog,  his  ancient  master  knew ; 
He,  not  unconscious  of  the  voice  and  tread, 
Lifts  to  the  sound  his  ear,  and  rears  his  head. 
Bred  by  Ulysses,  nourished  at  his  board, 
But  ah  !  not  fated  long  to  please  his  lord  ! 
To  him  his  swiftness  and  his  strength  were  vain  ; 

,  The  voice  of  glory  call'd  him  o'er  the  main. 

I  Till  then  in  ev'ry  sylvan  chase  renown'd, 

.  With  Argus,  Argus,  rung  the  woods  around ; 
With  him  the  youth  pursu'd  the  goat  or  fawn, 
Or  trac'd  the  mazy  lev'ret  o'er  the  lawn. 


MY    DOG.  177 

Now  left  to  man's  ingratitude  he  lay, 
Unhous'd,  neglected,  in  the  public  wav  ; 
And  where  on  heaps  the  rich  manure  was  spread, 
Obscene  with  n-pules,  took  his  sordid  bed. 

"  He  knew  his  lord ;  he  knew,  and  strove  to  meet, 
In  vain  he  strove,  to  crawl,  and  kiss  his 
Yet  (all  he  could)  his  tail,  his  ears,  his  eyes 
Salute  his  master,  and  confess  his  joys. 
Soft  pity  touch'd  the  mighty  master's  soul; 
Adown  his  check  a  tear  unbidden  stole, 
Stole  unperceiv'd ;  he  turn'd  his  head,  and  dry'd 
The  drop  humane  ;  then  thus  impassion' d  cry'd  ; 

'  What  noble  beast  in  this  abandon'd  state 
Lies  here  all  helpless  at  Ulysses'  gate? 
His  bulk  and  beauty  speak  no  vulgar  praise  ? 
If,  as  he  seems,  he  was  in  better  days, 
Some  care  his  age  deserves  :  Or  was  he  priz'd 
For  worthless  beauty!  therefore  now  despis'd? 
Such  dogs  and  men  there  are,  mere  things  of  state, 
And  always  cherish'd  by  their  friends,  the  great.1 

4  Not  Argus  so,'  (Eumwus  thus  rejoin'd,) 
'  But  scrv'd  a  master  of  a  nobler  kind, 
Who  never,  never  shall  behold  him  more! 
Long,  long  since  perish'd  on  a  distant  shore  ! 
Oh  had  you  seen  him,  vig'rous,  bold,  and  young, 
Swift  as  a  stag,  and  as  a  lion  strong; 
Him  no  fell  savage  on  the  plain  withstood  ; 
None  'scap'd  him,  bosom'd  in  the  gloomy  wood  ; 
His  eye  how  piercing,  and  his  scent  how  true, 
To  wind  the  vapor  in  the  tainted  dew ! 
Such,  when  Ulysses  left  his  natal  coast; 
Now  years  unnerve  him,  and  his  lord  is  lost ! 
The  women  keep  the  gen'rous  creature  bare, 
A  sleek  and  idle  race  is  all  their  care: 
The  master  gone,  the  servants  what  restrains! 
Or  dwells  humanity  where  riot  reigns? 
16 


178  MY    DOG. 

Jove  fix'd  it  certain,  that  whatever  day 
Makes  man  a  slave,  takes  half  his  worth  away/' 
This  said,  the  honest  herdsman  strode  before : 
The  musing  monarch  pauses  at  the  door. 
The  dog,  whom  fate  had  granted  to  behold 
His  lord,  when  twenty  tedious  years  had  roll'd, 
Takes  a  last  look,  and  having  seen  him,  dies ; 
So  clos'd  for  ever  faithful  Argus'  eyes  I" 

When  I  was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  a  school 
boy  in  the  country,  one  bright  winter's  morning,  an 
Indian  of  the  Oneida  tribe,  called  at  my  boarding  house, 
for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  some  refreshment  on  his 
journey  to  Philadelphia,  then  the  seat  of  government. 
He  bore  a  memorial  for  remuneration  for  the  services 
of  his  tribe  during  the  revolutionary  war,  and  being  a  chief, 
was  an  object  of  curiosity  to  the  boys  of  our  school ;  but 
the  Indian  was  nothing  in  rny  view  in  comparison  with 
his  dog.  He  was  one  of  the  largest  I  had  ever  seen  ;  he 
was  tall,  and  long,  broad-chested,  and  strong,  and  as 
fleet  as  a  grey-hound.  His  color  was  of  a  bright  yellow, 
and  his  head,  much  larger,  but  shaped  like  that  of  a 
wolf's.  He  was  grave,  although  not  more  than  eighteen 
months  old.  I  made  love  to  the  dog  at  once,  and  a 
reciprocal  affection  seemed  to  take  place ;  he  had  found 
the  Indian  a  hard  master.  I  offered  the  Indian  my 
silver  watch  for  the  dog,  which  he  readily  accepted.  I 
took  him  to  my  chamber;  the  Indian  told  the  dog  that 
from  henceforth  to  consider  me  as  his  master,  and  I 
thought  he  understood  all  that  was  said  to  him,  and  rejoiced 
in  being  freed  from  his  old  master;  but  however  that 


MY   DOG.  179 

might  have  been,  by  caressing  him  and  feeding  him 
well,  he  never  showed  the  slightest  wish  to  stray  from  me. 
He  was  decidedly  in  favor  of  civilization,  particularly  after 
he  had  flogged  all  the  dogs  in  the  neighborhood,  who  had 
made  an  attack  on  him.  Sometimes  a  dozen  of  them 
would  come  together,  but  he  never  regarded  them  a  straw, 
but  sallied  out,  chastised  them  for  their  insolence  and 
temerity,  and  came  quickly  back  to  his  bone.  When  the 
purchase  was  made,  I  was  reading  Caesar's  Commentaries, 
and  instead  of  keeping  his  Indian  name,  called  him  Julius 
Caesar,  after  the  immortal  Roman,  and  in  truth  his  charac 
ter  was  more  like  his  illustrious  prototype's,  than  any 
other  in  the  catalogue  of  heroes.  He  was  brave,  power 
ful,  magnanimous,  intelligent,  and  full  of  clemency ;  for 
after  he  had  conquered  all  the  dogs  of  any  size  in  the 
village,  he  bore  with  unruffled  magnanimity  and  compo 
sure  all  the  attacks  of  the  smaller  ones.  I  have  known 
him  receive  a  severe  bite  from  a  snarling  little  cur,  but 
disdained  to  resent  the  injury ;  his  enemy  was  too  insigni 
ficant  for  him  to  notice.  He  walked  the  lion  of  the  farm  ; 
the  cattle  and  hogs  obeyed  his  kingly  directions;  and 
the  poor  sheep  so  perfectly  understood  his  character, 
that  so  far  from  fleeing  from  him,  they  took  courage 
whenever  he  was  near  them.  It  was  a  new  country ; 
and  the  wolves  sometimes  sought  the  sheep  cotes,  and 
often  their  tracks  were  seen  in  the  snow  about  the  barns. 
At  such  times  Julius  would  quietly  sleep  in  the  yard  with 
the  sheep,  inspiring  the  whole  flock  with  confidence  the 
moment  they  saw  him.  When  he  stood  sentry,  no  dog 


180  MY    DOG. 

dared  approach.  He  was  obedient  and  affectionate  to 
his  young  master,  and  to  him  alone  was  his  whole  soul 
devoted.  He  would  sometimes  obey  others  when  he 
thought  them  right— but  his  master's  commands  he  never 
questioned.  They  hunted  together,  they  swam  together, 
and  were  inseparable.  Damon  and  Pythias  had  not  a 
stronger  friendship  than  Julius  and  his  master.  When 
we  had  lived  together  about  a  year,  some  of  the  neigh 
boring  farmers  came  to  inform  me  that  some  foxes  had 
been  seen  crossing  the  field,  and  making  for  the  woods. 
A  deep  light  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  it 
was  an  excellent  time  for  a  fox  hunt.  Julius  took  the 
track  with  great  zeal,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight,  taking 
two  of  the  fox  leaps  in  one.  His  master  followed,  but  had 
not  sufficient  strength  to  keep  up  with  the  hardy  yeomen 
on  the  track.  The  morning  was  rather  mild  and  pleasant 
for  the  season,  and  the  depth  of  the  snow  made  the 
walking  tiresome.  About  ten  o'clock  the  wind  shifted, 
and  it  began  to  grow  cold  rapidly.  The  change  was  so 
great,  that  from  glowing  with  perspiration,  I  became 
numb  and  chilly.  I  sought  for  a  hemlock  tree,  such  as 
are  often  found  in  the  woods,  torn  up  by  the  roots  in  some 
tornado,  and  lying  there  until  the  bark  separates  from  the 
wood,  and  forms  a  comfortable  place  of  rest  to  the 
traveller.  Into  such  a  cradle  I  crawled  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  the  wind,  and  refresh  myself  for  returning  home. 
In  this  place  I  soon  fell  asleep,  and  never  should  have 
awaked  again,  had  it  not  been  for  my  dog.  On  his  return 
after  a  very  successful  hunt,  Julius,  in  a  state  of  great 


MT    DOG.  181 

fatigue,  found  me  asleep.  He  instantly  set  up  a  cry  that 
alarmed  the  hunters,  but  they,  supposing  that  he  had  found 
a  new  den  of  foxes,  felt  themselves  too  much  fatigued  to 
go  an  inch  out  of  their  way  to  seek  for  more  game.  In  the 
course  of  half  an  hour  Julius  came  bounding  on  in  their 
path  ;  his  manner  was  terrific.  He  passed  before  them, 
and  seemed  to  insist  on  their  return.  At  one  moment  he 
seized  their  clothes,  and  attempted  to  lead  them  back  to 
the  woods,  from  whence  they  had  issued.  At  length  the 
oldest  man  among  them,  a  reflecting  sort  of  citizen,  said, 
'•This  dog  has  something  on  his  mind  more  than  a  fox; 
I  will  go  back."  The  others  were  ready  to  follow 
him.  The  dog  led  them  directly  to  the  hemlock  tree,  and 
there  they  found  me  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  The  dog 
had  turned  me  over,  and  had  nearly,  in  his  distress,  torn 
every  particle  of  dress  from  my  body,  but,  as  it  appeared, 
in  vain.  I  was  still  soundly  sleeping.  I  was  instantly 
taken  out  of  my  cradle  by  my  friends,  rolled  in  the  snow, 
•drubbed  with  it,  and  brought  to  life  by  the  application  of 
friction,  and  made  to  bite  a  crust  of  bread.  This  exer 
tion  gave  me  more  life  than  all  other  applications.  In  a 
short  time  I  was  so  far  resuscitated  as  to  speak,  but  could 
not  walk.  They  took  me  on  their  backs  alternately, 
being  sturdy  fellows,  and  I  soon  felt  that  I  was  once  more 
in  the  land  of  the  living.  Julius  was  in  an  ecstasy,  when 
he  first  heard  my  voice.  He  plunged  into  the  snow,  rolled 
over  before  the  man  who  was  bearing  me  on  his  back, 
licked  his  feet,  and  now  and  then  sent  forth  such  a  yell 

that  might  have  been  heard  miles  from  our  path.     When 

10* 


1S2  MY    DOG. 

we  arrived  I  was  so  much  recovered,  as  to  be  able  to 
walk  into  the  house  without  alarming  my  friends,  but  the 
conduct  of  the  dog  excited  attention,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  tell  the  whole  story.  Julius  watched  by  my 
bed  all  night,  and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  taste 
food  until  he  saw  me  drink  a  bowl  of  gruel.  He  noticed 
every  movement,  and  was  delighted  when  I  told  him  that 
I  should  soon  be  well ;  that  I  was  not  frozen,  or  much 
injured.  The  attachment  after  this  grew  stronger,  if 
possible,  than  it  was  before.  Julius  would  not  take  the 
slightest  notice  of  a  fox  track,  nor  move  at  the  call  of 
any  one  unless  I  was  there  to  lead.  He  accompanied  me 
to  the  academy  door  every  morning,  and  came  to  meet 
me  at  noon.  The  preceptor  ordered  me  to  send  him  off. 
I  only  replied,  if  that  is  done,  I  go  with  him.  The 
master  did  not  accept  of  this,  for  I  was  essential  to  him, 
being  a  better  mathematician  than  he  was,  and  at  times 
my  services  were  wanted.  Julius  and  I  still  lived  together. 
While  I  was  engaged  in  study,  he  never  made  the 
slightest  noise,  nor  allowed  any  one  to  disturb  me.  But 
when  the  books  were  shut,  he  leaped  in  ecstasy,  and 
frolicked  before  me  with  the  playfulness  of  a  kitten.  My 
school-fellows,  although  he  seldom  deigned  to  cast  a  look 
upon  any  one  of  them,  were  all  his  friends.  Twice 
he  had  assisted  a  sinking  tyro  to  reach  the  shore,  who 
had  ventured  to  swim  beyond  his  strength.  His  judgment 
was  as  cool  as  if  he  had  been  constituted  a  life-preserver 
by  the  humane  society.  One  of  the  boys  declared  to  me, 
that  having  hugged  the  dog  too  closely,  he  shoved  him  off 


MY     1 183 

and  took  hold  of  him  again  in  a  different  position,  and 
frightened  as  the  boy  was,  he  soon  found  that  he  must  be 
saved  as  Julius  thought  best.  Wherever  he  moved,  he 
made  friends,  and  never  by  any  caprice  forfeited  their 
good  opinion.  He  seemed  but  little  anxious  to  conciliate 
any  one;  his  whole  heart  was  with  his  master.  He 
flattered  no  one  by  his  caresses,  but  all  were  proud  of 
a  look  of  recognition.  11  is  motto  seemed  to  be  truly  Julian, 

"  Veni,  vidi,  vici." 

His  object  was  to  do  good.  Once  a  wagoner  in  a  state 
of  inebriation  fell  from  his  seat ;  Julius  took  the  reins  in 
his  mouth,  and  forbad  the  horses  to  move  an  inch  until 
those  came  whom  he  knew  were  capable  of  directing  the 
team.  When  the  small  children  of  the  family  went  out 
without  liberty,  or  any  one  to  protect  them,  he  would 
accompany  them,  take  their  little  bags  or  baskets  in  his 
mouth,  and  move  on  before  them,  a  protector  and  friend. 
If  they  were  capricious  and  abused  him,  he  never  suffered 
his  passions  to  be  in  the  slightest  degree  aroused.  The 
dignity  of  a  great  mind  never  deserted  him.  Thus 
Julius  and  his  master  lived  without  one  moment's  difficulty 
until  the  hour  of  their  separation  by  death  ;  and  his  death 
was  as  singular  as  that  of  his  great  namesake  himself. 
In  the  month  of  August,  "  Oh!  long  remembered  day," 
in  the  year  1800,  there  was  a  hue  and  cry  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  that  a  mad  dog  had  been  seen  in  the  village. 
The  only  proof  there  was  of  his  madness,  was  drawn 
from  the  fact,  that  in  chasing  a  flock  of  geese  he  had  gone 
round  a  pool  instead  of  swimming  across  it ;  and  a  mali- 


184  MY    DOG. 

cious  boy,  who  had  been  whipped  for  not  getting  his 
lesson  that  morning,  declared  that  the  great  dog  Julius 
had  been  seen  in  company  with  the  one  supposed  to  be 
mad.  This  was  enough.  The  whole  tribe  of  his  enemies, 
— for  he  had  enemies  as  well  as  friends — the  great  are 
subjects  of  envy  as  well  as  of  admiration, — were  aroused 
at  once.  Now  was  a  fair  opportunity  of  deadly  revenge. 
He  had  disdained  the  dogs  and  neglected  the  men,  and 
they  felt  envious  of  him  as  a  being  of  a  higher  order  than 
themselves.  Now  was  the  time  to  accomplish  his  death. 
Every  scamp  in  the  village  turned  out  with  guns  and 
clubs,  and  came  after  Julius,  who  was  lying  down  in  the 
back  yard,  and  without  any  inquiry,  in  the  most  unfeeling 
manner  poured  their  fire  upon  him.  I  reached  the  spot 
before  he  was  quite  dead,  and  embracing  him,  called 
on  the  savages  to  fire.  This  they  dared  not  do.  The 
dog  without  a  moan  laid  his  head  on  my  breast  and 
expired.  The  school-boys,  in  general,  came  to  condole 
with  me,  and  Julius  was  buried  with  more  regret  than 
was  ever  felt  for  any  one  of  his  murderers.  The  grave  was 
made  deep,  and  a  mass  of  heavy  stones  thrown  into  it  to 
prevent  some  vagabond  from  digging  him  up  for  his  skin. 
The  boys  labored  hard  to  assist  me,  and  in  whispers 
suggested  that  they  would  join  me  in  killing  every  dog 
in  the  village.  To  this  I  was  not  inclined ;  the  dogs 
had  done  me  no  harm,  but  on  their  masters  I  contempla 
ted  a  deep  and  lasting  revenge,  one  that  might  preserve 
their  memories  in  infamy  for  ages.  I  compiled,  in 
the  first  place,  the  history  of  the  village,  and  hunted 


MY    DOG.  185 

up  the  dark  stains  on  the  escutcheons  of  the  murderers 
of  Julius,   if  they  could   be  said  to  have  any.      There 
were  enough  who  sympathized  with  me,  to  help  me  to 
facts.     The  work  was  composed  in  a  paroxysm  of  terrible 
vengeance.     On  reflection,  I  found  it  should,  to  be  effec 
tive,  be  written  in  verse.     I  reflected  that  hundreds  of 
lines  of  the  satirists,  of  Horace  and  Pope  were  repeated, 
when   hardly   a   sentence   of  Cicero's  Orations   against 
Verres,  or  Anthony,  or  Cataline,  was  ever   committed 
to  memory.     But  a  difficulty  now   arose.     I  had  never 
written  a  line  of  poetry,  but,  inspired  by  the  indignant 
muse  of  satire,  I  commenced  my  labors.     In  two  days 
a  satire  of  three  hundred  lines  was  ready  for  publication. 
Several  copies  were  made  by  my  school-fellows.     I  now 
took    up    my    connections    with   the    school ;    made   an 
address  to  the  boys  ;  bid  a  lasting  adieu  to  the  sincere 
friend  and  the  generous  enemy  ;   took  the  passing  stage  ; 
and   never  saw  the  place  again   for  thirty  years,    when 
I  found  that  the  mound  of  stones  erected  over  the  grave 
of  the  great   Julius  still  remained  unimpaired  by  time. 
My    school-fellows   had   published   my   satire,   by   giving 
copies  of  it  to  those  who  were  not  subjects  of  it.      It 
took  mightily  ;  girls  and  boys  committed  it  to  memory,  and 
repeated  it,    as  a  smart  thing,    to  their  acquaintances. 
The   subjects  were  mortified  to  hear  lines  against  them 
at  every  turn.      The  school-master    made   it  an  offence 
to  copy  the  poem,  or  to  repeat  a  line  of  it;  the  very 
best  method  he  could  have  taken  to  promulgate  it,  and 
to  fill  up  the  measure  of  my  revenge.     On  my  late  visit 


186  MY    DOG. 

to  the  town,  after  thirty  years,  I  found  one  of  my  school 
fellows  at  the  inn,  who  repeated  to  me  several  lines  of 
the  satire,  which  had  nearly  gone  from  my  recollection. 
If  the  lines  had  not  much  poetry  in  them,  they  have  a 
good  share  of  satirical  venom. 

"And  limping  Bill,  of  dusky  Indian  breed, 
Was  first  to  make  the  mighty  Julius  bleed  ; 
Then  lazy  Glines,  the  offspring  of  a  sot, 
Discharg'd  with  wicked  aim  a  murderous  shot; 
Then  drum-head  Dalton,  whipt  for  stealing  hogs, 
Held  deep  resentment  'gainst  all  faithful  dogs  ; 
They  traced  his  stagg'ring  steps  from  barn  to  camp, 
And  brought  conviction  on  the  furtive  scamp. 
Then  gawky  Joe,  whose  father  ran  away 
To  'scape  the  dangers  of  the  battle  fray  ;      ',  *( 
In  all  the  blust'ring  of  a  coward's  ire, 
Dar'd  boldly,  a  half  mile  off'  to  fire. 
Then  gripus  Smith,  who  took  the  widow's  cow, 
To  pay  another's  rent  she  did  not  owe, 
Levell'd  his  gun  with  most  malicious  will, 
But  thinking  what  his  powder  cost,  was  still 
And  gambling  Turner  joined  the  savage  glee  ; 
He  hated  Julius  riot,  but  hated  me. 
His  feeble  son,  on  every  coming  night, 
Drew  from  my  brains  his  morning  lesson's  light ; 
Shar'd  every  honor  of  the  village  school, 
A  knave  the  father,  and  the  son  a  fool ; 
The  teacher  frequented  the  gamester's  hearth, 
And  there  injustice  had  its  shameful  birth. 
At  eve  they  play'd,  the  subtle  father  won, 
Was  paid  in  honors  to  the  drivelling  son, 
At  sad  expense  to  every  honest  child 
Whom  God  has  gifted  in  this  northern  wild  ; 
And  there  be  some  who  will  be  known  to  fame, 
The  spark  of  genius  bursting  to  a  flame." 


MY    DOG.  187 

This  excitement  formed  an  era  in  the  history  of  the 
village.  From  family  and  domestic  anecdote  they  passed 
into  a  strict  examination  of  the  affairs  of  the  school ; — 
listened  to  all  the  complaints  that  were  made,  and  found 
most  of  them  had  their  origin  in  truth.  The  trustees 
were  proved  to  have  been  partial  in  their  conduct,  particu 
larly  in  the  election  of  the  preceptor,  who  was  an  ignorant 
and  shallow  fellow,  a  libertine,  gamester,  and  base  calum 
niator  of  some,  and  a  gross  flatterer  of  others,  who  pro 
tected  him  in  turn.  Comparisons  were  instituted  between 
this  and  other  literary  institutions,  and  it  was  found  want 
ing.  The  instructor  was  dismissed,  and  the  literary 
ephemeron  closed  its  wings  and  expired,  and  the  building 
rented  for  a  wheel-maker's  shop. 

I  could  not  ask  of  the  bleeding  form  of  Julius,  as 
I  called  it  up  to  memory,  after  thirty  years  had  elapsed, 
to  pardon  me  for  meekness  and  gentleness  to  his  butchers; 
his  spirit  could  not  have  asked  a  deeper  revenge,  if  he  had 
come  from  the  confines  of  his  rest,  and  howled  in  their 
ears  a  thousand  evils  to  their  race. 


THE    EXILE. 

"Breathes  there  a  man,  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turned. 
From  wand'ring  on  a  foreign  strand  !" 

IN  one  of  those  fine  grazing  towns  in  the  Granite 
State,  where  all  live  well  and  most  work  hard,  there  then 
resided  a  grave  and  solemn  personage,  a  farmer  and  tan 
ner,  by  the  name  of  Zechariah  Gilmnn.  lie  was  of  staid 
manners  and  inflexible  muscle.  He  had  read  the  Scrip 
tures  with  assiduity,  and  also  many  of  Cotton  Mather's 
sermons.  His  library  consisted  of  a  few  commentaries  on 
the  Bible,  Flavel's  Works,  Pilgrim's  Progress,  and  a  Ge 
ography,  with  Fox's  Lives  of  the  Martyrs,  and  probably 
Bailey's  Dictionary.  His  method  of  reasoning  was  to 
commence  with  doubting  every  thing,  but  his  own  expla 
nation  of  God's  secret  will,  together  with  his  own  exposi 
tion  of  predestination  and  foreknowledge.  The  benevo 
lence  of  Deity  was  a  subject  he  never  touched  on,  but  de 
lighted  to  dwell  upon  the  hatred  of  God  to  sinners.  When 
some  bigot  made  close  calculations  of  the  number  that 
would  be  saved,  and  sifted  them  to  a  very  small  portion  of 
the  human  race,  it  was  refreshing  to  his  soul  to  find  a 
preacher  of  such  doctrine.  He  astonished  many  by  his 

apparent  deep  metaphysical  reasoning ;  but  when  his  argu- 
17 


190  THE    EXILE. 

ments  were  fairly  examined,  it  was  discovered  that  he  rea 
soned  in  a  vicious  circle,  and,  like  a  horse  in  a  cider-mill, 
followed  blindly  in  his  own  track.  His  morals  were  legally 
correct,  for  he  did  nothing  that  the  law  could  reach  ;  but 
his  heart  was  harder  than  the  nether  mill-stone,  and  cha 
rity  was  not  in  his  catalogue  of  virtues.  He  had  trained 
his  dogs  to  keep  off  vagrants.  He  was  sometimes  induced 
to  let  out  small  sums  to  poor  laborers  in  the  winter  season, 
taking  a  due-bill  for  work  when  the  days  were  long  in  the 
summer ;  and  wo  betide  the  delinquent  who  did  not  come 
at  his  bidding ;  on  a  day's  delay  he  would  find  a  sheriff  in 
possession  of  his  body.  In  this  way  he  became  a  wealthy 
man,  for  a  farmer,  and  was  promoted  in  the  church  to  a 
deaconcy,  and  was  said  to  have  read  the  psalm  in  a  bless 
ed  tone.  In  the  neighborhood,  which  always  extends  a 
mile  or  two  in  a  thinly  settled  place,  there  was  an  old  sea 
captain,  who  had  become  sick  of  the  billows,  and  changed 
them  to  furrows.  His  hand  was  always  open  to  the  needy, 
and  he  protected  the  oppressed  with  unflinching  bravery. 
These  men  were  magistrates.  If  a  young  trespasser  on  a 
plumb  garden,  or  a  water-mellon  bed,  was  brought  before 
Justice  Oilman,  he  was  sure  to  be  punished  to  the  extent 
of  the  law;  but  if  brought  before  Justice  Newman,  the 
affair  was,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  settled  without  a  judg 
ment,  in  an  amicable  way,  and  the  culprit  dismissed  with 
good  advice,  and  he  was  seldom  troubled  with  a  second 
offence.  Both  these  men  had  sons,  who  for  a  while  were 
at  the  same  town-school ;  and  when  Capt.  Newman's  sons 
went  to  college  or  to  the  seas,  he  treated  the  young 


THE    EXILE.  191 

Oilman's  with  great  kindness,  and  furnished  them  with 
books  from  a  good  library  which  he  had  collected  in  his 
seafaring  days,  and  assisted  the  second  son  to  obtain  a 
little  knowledge  of  surveying  and  navigation.  This  was 
a  fine,  tall  lad,  athletic,  and  full  of  life,  and  took  the  lead, 
in  school  and  out  of  it,  of  all  the  boys  of  his  age. 

In  the  month  of  June,  1805,  on  a  Saturday  night,  there 
came  up  a  tremendous  thunder  storm ;  the  whole  heavens 
were  in  a  constant  blaze  for  several  hours ;  many  people 
were  sadly  alarmed.  The  lightning  struck  in  several 
places  in  the  town.  Many  cattle  and  sheep  were  killed  ; 
and  a  house,  belonging  to  a  widow,  was  burnt  to  the 
ground.  On  the  following  Sunday,  after  the  evening  ser 
vices  had  closed,  several  parishioners  met,  and  agreed  at 
once  to  assist  the  widow  in  rebuilding  her  house.  Some 
were  ready  to  give  their  labor  ;  others,  materials  for  build 
ing.  Some  had  timber,  others  had  lime,  bricks,  or  nails  ; 
and  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  those  who  know  nothing  of 
the  spontaneous  benevolence  of  a  primitive  people,  before 
the  next  Monday's  sun  had  gone  down,  a  comfortable 
house  was  ready  for  the  reception  of  the  sufferers.  The 
workmen  and  contributors  were  in  high  spirits  at  their  ra 
pid  progress,  when  it  was  made  known  to  them  that  one 
of  the  widow's  children  was  nearly  struck  blind  by  the  flash 
of  lightning  that  destroyed  the  house.  A  competent  sum 
was  instantly  raised,  to  send  the  child  to  an  eminent  ocu 
list,  about  twenty  miles  off.  William  Hutchins  Gilman  had 
subscribed  his  day's  work ;  this  he  had  a  right  to  do,  by 
the  customs  of  farmers,  having  gained  about  ten  days  to 


192  THE    EXILE. 

himself  by  over-work,  and  of  course  his  father  could  not 
have  any  thing  to  say  against  it.     When  the  sum  was  to 
be  made  up  for  the  child,  he  had  a  half  dollar  in  his  pocket; 
he  unhesitatingly  gave  all  he  had  about  him.     By  some 
one  who  had  come  home  earlier  than  William,  his  father 
had  been  made  acquainted  with  this  act  of  generosity,  and 
began  to  lecture  him  as  soon  as  he  got  into  the  house ; 
telling  him  that  he  would  and  ought  to  be  a  beggar,  if  he 
went  on  in  this  course.     The  boy  defended  his  conduct 
in  very  mild  terms,  but  in  the  true  spirit  of  that  indepen 
dence  which  is  born  with  that  people.     "  What  advan 
tage,"  said  he  to  his  father,  "  is  it  to  me  to  earn  money  in 
hours  stolen  from  sleep,  if  1  cannot  use  it  in  an  honest  way, 
as  I  please.     If  I  had  wasted  my  money  in  a  tavern,  or 
gambling  room,  you  would  have  had  a  right  to  complain ; 
but  as  I  have  given  it  in  charity,  I  do  not  concede  your 
right  to  complain."     The  old  churl  found  he  had  no  rea 
son  to  offer,  and,  as  most  men  do  in  such  cases,  flew  into 
a  violent  passion,  and  seizing  a  horse-whip  which  hung 
behind  the  door,  made  a  blow  at  his  son,  who  catching  the 
handle  of  the  whip,  instantly  drew  it  from  the  assailant, 
and  breaking  it  across  his  knee,  was  making  his  way  to  the 
door,  with  the  lash  in  his  hand  on  a  small  piece  of  the 
handle,  when  his  father  attempted  to  strike  him  with  his 
clenched  fist ;  but  he  parried  the  blow,  and  darted  from  his 
presence  like  a  deer.     The  incensed  father,  seizing  the 
kitchen  tongs,  attempted  in  vain  to  reach  him.     Every  in- 
mate  of  the  house  fled  at  once,  and  the  pious  officer  of  the 
church  was  left  alone  in  his  glory.     Tho  boy  at  once  made 


THE    EXILE.  193 

his  way  to  his  friend  Newman's,  who  was  in  bed,  but  in 
stantly  arose  and  opened  his  hospitable  door,  for  the  relief 
of  his  young  friend, — that  door  which  never  turned  on  its 
hinges  to  shut  out  those  who  came  for  succor  or  kindness. 
The  story  was  soon  told ;  and  the  young  man's  determina 
tion  to  leave  the  state,  if  not  approved  of,  was  not  strenu 
ously  opposed.  He  was  furnished  with  some  short  letters 
of  introduction  to  several  master  mariners  on  the  sea 
board,  and  with  some  money  to  bear  his  expenses;  and  as 
they  were  considering  the  difficulty  about  clothes,  William's 
elder  brother,  John,  came  to  the  house  with  a  bundle  of 
clothes.  When  all  was  in  readiness,  the  old  gentleman 
called  up  one  of  his  men,  ordered  him  to  put  a  horse  in  the 
wagon,  and  take  William  across  the  country  to  meet  the 
mail  route.  They  shook  hands — breathed  a  farewell, — 
and  before  the  sun  had  gilded  his  native  hills,  he  was  on 
his  way  to  seek  his  fortune.  His  father  preserved  a  dog 
ged  silence  on  the  subject,  and  but  few  dared  even  allude 
to  the  event.  Many  a  year  rolled  on,  and  no  tidings  from 
William  ever  came  to  the  people  of  the  neighborhood,  or 
none  that  could  be  relied  upon.  Sometimes  it  was  rumored 
that  he  had  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  and  had  gone  to  the 
western  country,  and  there  had  been  killed  by  the  Indians; 
and  some  went  so  far  as  to  give  a  minute  account  of  his 
tortures  and  sufferings,  as  they  roasted  him  alive ;  then 
there  was  another  rumor,  that  he  had  turned  pirate,  and 
being  taken,  was  hanged  in  the  West  Indies.  Captain 

Newman  seemed  always  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  these  stories ; 
17* 


194  THE    EXILE. 

prophesying  that  William  would  do  well,  and  return  in 
due  time. 

In  the  year  1820,  a  mariner  made  his  appearance  at 
the  house  of  Capt.  Newman,  not  remarkably  well  dress- 
ed ;  but  this  did  not  excite  any  attention,  as  the  captain 
had  a  great  many  seafaring  acquaintance,  who,  returning 
from  a  voyage,  made  him  a  visit,  although  it  was  some 
thing  of  a  journey  to  his  house  in  the  interior.     He  was 
greeted  as  cousin  Newman,  and  treated  cordially,  and  set 
at  the  table,  notwithstanding  his  dress.     He  wore  a  short 
blue  jacket,  and  white  linen  trowsers,  a  waistcoat  that 
had  been  once  quite  dashy,  but  now  a  little  the  worse  for 
wear;  his  hat  was  new,  and  his  linen  remarkably  neat, 
and  he  had  a  good  bandana.     He  had  no  watch,  an  article 
sailor's  love  to  display.     His  whole  appearance,  if  it  did 
not  indicate  poverty,  was  certainly  not  sufficiently  genteel 
to  prove  any  uncommon  success.     His  person  was  noble ; 
he  appeared  to  be  above  thirty  years  of  age,  of  a  large 
frame,  and  agile  in  his  motions,  and  in  excellent  health. 
He  rambled  about  the  farm,  but  was  seldom  seen  abroad. 
The  attentions  paid  the  stranger   by  the  captain,  led  to 
some  surmises  in  the  mind  of  an  old  maid,  an  appendage 
to  the  family ;  and  she,  with  some  inquisitive  neighbors, 
set  about  finding  out  who  the  stranger  was;   and  at  the 
next  quilting  visit,  some  one  asked  if  it  might  not  be  Bill 
Oilman,  who  went  away  many  years  ago ;  but  if  it  was  Gil- 
man,  she  guessed  that  he  had  come  home  not  much  better 
off  than  when  he  went  away.   This  conjecture  was  strength- 


THE    EXILE.  195 

ened  by  one  of  the  females  declaring  that  she  saw  the 
stranger,  one  moonlight  night,  standing  near  the  graves  of 
the  Oilman  family,  in  the  church-yard.  Curiosity  was 
now  heightened  to  distress;  and  the  old  maid,  to  give  them 
a  chance  of  seeing  the  stranger,  invited  the  ladies  to  come 
and  eat  cherries  with  her  the  next  day,  as,  when  that  fruit 
was  ripe,  the  captain  opened  his  garden  to  all  his  neigh 
bors.  The  next  afternoon  the  visitors  began  to  swarm ; 
and  the  captain  asked  his  cousin  to  assist  the  lad  it  s  in 
gathering  the  cherries.  He  waited  upon  them  with  so 
much  ease  and  grace,  that  they  could  not  believe  that  he 
was  a  sailor,  made  out  of  a  country  boy.  Women,  in  every 
grade  of  life,  have  a  quick  and  delicate  perception  of  fine 
manners  in  a  gentleman.  Mrs.  Sarah  Gilman,  the  widow 
of  the  late  John  Gilman,  was  one  of  the  visitors.  She  was 
an  imperial  looking  woman,  tall  enough  for  a  tragedy 
queen.  She  had  light  hair,  blue  eyes,  a  fine  complexion, 
and  majestic  mien.  Captain  Newman  used  to  say,  that  no 
party  was  perfect,  in  his  view,  that  wanted  "  the  Patago- 
nian  beauty."  The  stranger  paid  her  particular  attention. 
He  filled  a  little  basket  with  ox-hearts,  and  presented  it  to 
her,  as  she  was  about  to  depart.  The  visitors,  as  they 
wended  homeward,  compared  notes,  and  a  great  majority 
was  found  against  the  belief  that  the  stranger  was  William 
II.  Gilman.  The  widow  was  silent.  The  next  afternoon 
she  made  it  in  her  way  to  return  the  basket;  but  she  was 
not  so  much  at  ease  as  the  day  before.  The  stranger  was 
the  same.  He  talked  with  her  upon  the  gardens  of  Italy, 
France,  and  England,  and  of  the  fruits  of  the  equator  and 


196  THE    EXILE. 

the  tropics.  He  had  plucked  the  pomegranate  in  Arabia, 
and  the  clusters  of  grapes  at  Shiraz  ;  but  all  was  easy  and 
natural,  as  if  he  had  been  talking  of  his  native  town. 
The  next  Saturday  the  captain  invited  the  widow  and  her 
brother,  a  genteel  young  lawyer,  to  dine  with  him  and  a 
few  friends.  The  stranger  had  now  on  a  long  dress  coat, 
rather  decent,  but  far  from  being  new.  His  manners  were 
frank,  and  his  conversation  was  spirited,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  playful.  As  they  were  walking  in  the  garden,  after 
dinner,  a  lilly  was  seen  in  an  artificial  pond.  The  nympha 
was  closed;  it  had  that  day,  for  the  first  time,  spread  its 
beautiful  leaves  on  the  pure  bosom  of  the  water  to  catch  the 
first  rays  of  the  morning  sun.  With  great  gallantry  he 
lifted  the  lady  into  a  small  boat,  remarking  with  a  smile, 
"  You  are  heavier  than  you  were  sixteen  years  ago."  At 
this  the  "  orient  blush  of  quick  surprise"  mantled  her  cheek, 
as  the  thought  flashed  across  her  mind,  that  this  must  be 
her  late  husband's  brother;  for  she  remembered  that  Wil 
liam  had  carried  her  through  a  snow-bank,  when  she  was 
a  little  school  girl  of  seven  years  old.  The  next  remark  of 
the  stranger  did  not  assist  her  in  any  further  conjectures, 
being  very  foreign  to  the  subject.  On  her  return  home  that 
night,  she  ventured  to  suggest  to  her  brother  her  suspi 
cions,  but  he  laughed  at  her ;  adding,  "  I  was  a  school 
fellow  with  Oilman  when  I  was  quite  a  boy,  and  I  think 
I  should  have  remembered  him.  This  is  a  polished  man, 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  good  society  from  his  cradle." 
Two  or  three  days  elapsed  before  she  ventured  to  the  gar 
den  again.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  state  her  con- 


THE    EXM  r.  197 

jecturcs  to  the  captain.  This  she  did  ;  and  added,  "  I 
have  brought  him  all  the  money  I  had  in  the  house,  about 
three  hundred  dollars,  which  I  wish  you  to  hand  to  him, 
as  I  think  he  has  been  unfortunate.  I  shall  have  more 
next  month,  and  it  shall  be  at  his  service."  The  captain 
said,  "  Well,  well,  you  are  a  good  girl.  I  wish  I  was  forty 
years  younger ;  I  would  not  Jet  every  one  run  away  with 
you.  I  will  inform  my  cousin  of  your  kindness;"  and 
went  out  to  bring  him  in. 

He  approached  her  with  great  emotion  ;  acknowledged 
that  he  was  her  brother-in-law,  who  had  been  absent  for 
fifteen  years;  stated  that  he  had  met  with  various  fortunes 
in  his  wanderings  round  the  world,  but  as  he  was  a 
single  man  in  good  health,  he  could  earn  his  living,  and 
must  decline  her  generous  offer — but  her  intentions 
should  never  be  forgotten ;  adding,  that  when  the  baggage 
wagon  brings  along  my  sea-chests  I  shall  be  better 
clothed,  and  at  the  same  time  I  hope  I  shall  receive 
a  little  money  that  is  due  me  for  my  services;  and  until 
that  comes,  the  captain  will  let  me  have  whatever  I  may 
want.  The  good-souled  widow  was  delighted  at  the 
discovery,  and  still  more  sp  when  she  was  told  that  there 
was  no  necessity  of  his  b<-iu^  incognito  any  longer.  She 
urged  him  never  to  think  of  the  treacherous  ocean  again. 
His  friends,  she  knew,  would  do  any  thing  for  him,  and 
he  must  not  leave  them.  The  next  day  the  old  maid 
spread  the  news  over  the  whole  town.  Old  Mr.  Oilman 
heard  the  story,  but  said  not  a  word.  The  brother  and 
sister  of  William  Hutchins  Oilman  came  to  see  him. 


198  THE    EXILE. 

The  boy  was  common-place  enough,  but  the  girl  was 
intellectual,  and  pretty  if  not  handsome.  The  next 
Sunday  after  the  fact  was  settled  that  the  exile  had 
returned,  as  Deacon  Oilman  called  his  family  together  for 
evening  prayers,  his  daughter,  whose  turn  it  was  to  read 
a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  took  that  which  contained  the 
parable  of  the  prodigal  son.  The  father  saw  her  intention, 
but  made  no  remark.  When  the  reading  had  finished,  she 
asked  her  father  if  it  was  not  the  intention  of  Jesus 
Christ  to  encourage  a  forgiving  disposition,  not  only  to 
those  who  offended  us,  but  to  those  who  had  done 
foolishly  and  wickedly?  "  Your  son,  my  dear  father,  has 
only  erred,  not  sinned ;  will  you  not  be  such  a  disciple  of 
Christ,  as  to  forgive  your  son  and  take  him  to  your  arms, 
and  make  all  of  us  happy ;  and  prove  to  the  world  that 
you  are  not  only  a  professing  Christian,  but  one  in  feeling 
and  principle  1"  This  came  like  a  blow  from  a  strong 
arm  on  a  bosom  of  flint,  and  which  for  a  moment  seemed 
cleft  in  twain  for  the  admission  of  charity ;  but  the  sor 
ceries  of  avarice  closed  it  again,  and  ribbed  it  anew 
with  brass,  and  made  it,  if  possible,  more  obdurate  than 
ever.  No  man  is  always  a  brute  ;  and  he  did  not  smite 
her  to  the  floor.  He  told  her  never  to  name  the  vagabond 
and  imposter  again,  and  bent  his  knee  for  prayer.  What 
a  mockery  !  She  sobbed  aloud,  for  her  distress  was  beyond 
her  control.  She  had  always  listened  to  her  father's  prayers 
with  delight  before.  Now  they  became  an  abomination 
to  her,  and  she  never  listened  to  them  again  with  pleasure. 
To  address  a  Being  on  whose  mercies  we  constantly 


THE    EXILE.  199 

depend  for  forgiveness,  and  at  the  same  time  to  harden 
our  own  hearts,  she  was  too  pure  and  good  to  think  was 
of  a  Christian  character.  There  was  more  piety  in  one 
of  the  palpitations  of  that  little  girl's  bosom,  than  in  all 
that  the  "twilight  deacon,"  as  some  called  him,  ever 
uttered. 

Early  in  the  week,  the  stranger  heard  that  an  old 
and  decrepit  woman,  a  tenant  to  the  deacon,  was  to  be 
ejected  from  a  small  log-house  which  she  had  rented,  for 
being  behind  in  her  payments.  She  had  been  sick,  and 
her  earnings  were  suspended.  At  the  dawn  of  day  he 
dressed  himself  in  a  neat  linen  suit,  "  white,"  as  aunt 
Molly,  the  tenant,  said,  "  as  the  driven  snow."  But  it 
was  a  jacket,  and  not  a  coat;  a  suit,  as  the  people 
thought  in  that  region,  rather  belonging  to  a  mariner  than 
a  gentleman.  As  he  entered  aunt  Molly's  cabin,  he 
inquired  how  much  she  was  in  the  rear  ; — her  reply  was, 
"  live  dollars."  On  inquiry,  he  found  she  had  another 
tenement  in  view,  if  she  could  get  rid  of  her  present 
landlord.  The  sum  due  was  paid  by  the  stranger,  and 
the  new  tenement  hired  ;  and  a  year's  rent  advanced,  with 
strict  injunction  of  secrecy.  This  was  asking  too  much 
of  human  nature.  She  only  whispered  it  to  a  dear  sister, 
and  she  went  trumpet-tongued  through  the  parish.  After 
he  left  aunt  Molly,  he  strolled  along  the  road  he  used  to 
travel  when  a  school-boy,  and  within  a  short  distance  from 
the  house  of  the  deacon.  He  met  him  in  the  highway, 
and  intended  to  pass  him  without  uttering  a  syllable ;  but 
the  deacon,  staring  him  full  in  the  face,  abruptly  accosted 


200  THE    EXILE. 

him — "Are  you  the  impostor  and  vagabond,  who  have 
come  to  disturb  myself  and  family,  by  pretending  to  be  a 
son  of  mine,  who  left  me  many  years  ago  ?  You  are  a 
vagrant,  and  I  will  send  you  to  the  alms-house."  "  Not 
quite  so  fast,  Mr.  Justice,  that  is  a  little  beyond  your 
puissant  authority,"  was  the  reply.  "  If  I  had  my  horse 
whip  here,  I  would  whip  you  to  the  bone,"  said  the 
deacon.  The  stranger  replied,  "  I  understood  that  you 
could  not  succeed  in  whipping  your  son  when  he  was 
only  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  I  question  whether, 
at  your  time  of  life,  you  would  meet  with  much  success  in 
attempting  the  process  upon  one  of  my  size ;  but,  how 
ever,  I  have  a  whip  in  my  pocket,  and  here  it  is,  do  you 
recollect  it?"  It  was  the  identical  lash  with  a  short 
piece  of  the  handle,  that  William  Hutchins  Oilman  had 
carried  away  with  him.  The  deacon  was  in  a  paroxysm 
of  rage,  and  running  to  the  gate  of  his  tan-yard,  called 
on  a  big  surly  mastiff,  kept  there  to  guard  the  property, 
and  set  him  on  the  stranger.  The  dog  in  obedience  made 
a  furious  onset,  but  the  next  instant  was  dead  with  a 
single  blow  from  the  oaken  club  the  sailor  had  in  his 
hand.  He  struck  with  a  giant's  strength,  and  the  deacon 
pale  and  trembling,  uttered  a  fiendish  laugh,  and  said, 
"  Now,  you  vagabond,  I  have  you  ! — that  dog  was  worth 
a  hundred  dollars,  and  I  will  hold  you  to  bail  in  an  action 
for  damages,  and  you  will  go  to  jail."  The  stranger  had 
returned  to  the  captain's  but  a  few  hours,  when  a  deputy 
sheriff,  with  a  dozen  assistants,  came  to  apprehend  him, 
on  a  writ.  The  deacon  told  the  officer  that  the  trespasser 


THE    EXILE.  201 

possessed  a  giant's  strength,  and  warned  him  to  go  weH 
guarded ;  when  in  fact  it  was  only  to  give  notoriety  to  his 
conduct.  Captain  Newman  instantly  put  in  bail.  The 
next  morning  his  guest  took  passage  in  the  stage  for  the 
sea-coast,  promising  to  return  in  a  few  weeks,  and  stated 
that  then  he  should  take  up  his  abode  with  his  friend  for 
the  season— ordering  the  whole  of  his  acquaintances  not 
to  disturb  the  deacon  with  any  process  or  animadversion 
upon  the  subject. 

The  widow  seemed  the  only  one  disturbed  at  his 
abrupt  departure ;— even  she  was  softened  when  the 
captain  said  to  her  some  time  after  his  friend's  departure, 
"  Sarah,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  William  has  left  a 
present  for  you,  as  a  little  token  of  friendship,"  handing 
a  splendid  ca.-hmire  shawl,  which  was  folded  in  >ilk,  and 
labeled  "  To  my  mother.  W.  II.  G."  "  But  as  that  mother 
is  no  more,  it  has  now  a  new  destination,  '  To  Mrs.  Sarah 
Gilman.'  "  The  widow  was  delighted  at  the  sight  of  the 
superb  article,  but  looking  at  the  captain,  she  exclaimed, 
11  Why  did  he  not  sell  this  shawl,  and  put  it  on  his  own 
back?'  The  captain,  laughing,  said,  "Sailors  are 
strange  animals  ;  there  is  no  accounting  for  their  whims ; 
that  article  would  have  sold  for  enough  to  have  clothed 
a  man  for  three  years."  The  widow  looked  at  her  present 
with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  and  said  "  I  shall  never  put  this 
on  my  shoulders  until  I  see  William  well  to  do." 

There  was  a  good  share  of  gossip  upon  the  late 
visit ;  for  there  were  some  circumstances  in  his  conduct 

that  were  rather  mysterious,  but  all  was  soon   absorbed 

18 


202  THE    EXILE. 

in  a  new  village  incident.  Colonel  Gibson,  a  fashionable 
man,  whose  wealth  was  supposed  to  be  almost  boundless, 
had  died,  and  his  estate  was  found  to  be  insolvent,  and 
was  for  sale  by  order  of  court,  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
the  creditors.  The  sale  was  advertised  in  the  city  papers, 
as  the  farm  was  large,  and  the  personal  estate  considera 
ble  ;  and  as  the  terms  were  cash  down,  therefore  it  was 
supposed  that  some  merchant  who  wished  to  retire  from 
business  would  be  the  purchaser  of  most  that  was  up 
for  sale.  The  auction  was  a  full  one,  as  many  went 
to  get  a  single  piece  of  furniture,  if  no  more.  The  room 
was  crowded  with  ladies.  The  old  captain  had  taken 
the  widow  in  his  chaise  to  the  sale.  It  was  a  gala  which 
most  people  have  a  wish  to  attend.  Early  in  the  morning 
of  the  day  of  the  sale,  the  furniture  was  all  spread  out  for 
examination.  It  is  a  strange  propensity  that  leads 
persons  to  such  a  place.  Of  all  the  cold-blooded  scenes 
in  life,  that  of  viewing  the  household  furniture  paraded  to 
the  gaze  of  those  who  never  entered  the  mansion  while  the 
master  was  living,  is  the  most  chilling  to  a  feeling  heart. 
It  goes  to  show  the  truth  of  the  saying  of  the  wise  man 
of  Israel, — "  A  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion." 
Many  gentlemen  from  the  sea-board  were  at  the  auction. 
Deacon  Zechariah  Oilman  was  there,  for  he  thought  things 
must  sell  low,  as  cash  was  scarce.  It  was  rumored 
that  Capt."  Newman  would  bid  for  some  old  sea-faring 
friend.  He  bid  so  fair  a  price  at  first,  that  there  was  but 
few  bidders  upon  him,  and  the  sale  ended  in  half  the 
anticipated  time.  The  house  and  farm  was  knocked 


THE    EXILE.  203 

down  at  ten  thousand  five  hundred  dollars.  The  money 
for  all  was  paid.  The  administrator's  deed,  drawn, 
according  to  the  statute,  "  in  such  cases  made  and  provi 
ded."  The  captain  then  rose  and  requested  the  adminis 
trators  to  insert  the  name  of  William  Hutchins  Oilman, 
merchant,  late  of  Canton,  China,  now  commorant  of  the 
county  of  Stafford,  and  State  of  New-Hampshire."  "  Fel 
low-citizens,"  continued  the  captain,  "  this  gentleman  was 
bom  among  us,  has  been  absent  for  more  than  fifteen 
years,  has  made  himself  a  man  of  letters  and  science, 
and  lias  accumulated  an  decant  competency,  and  intends 
to  spend  his  days  and  income  with  you.  He  is  now  at 
the  hotel,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  introducing  him  to  you  all."  Men,  women,  and  chil 
dren  broke  into  an  involuntary  burst  of  applause.  The 
echoes  from  their  voices  had  hardly  died  away,  when 
a  well-dressed,  elegant  gentleman  made  his  appearance, 
and  was  introduced  by  his  old  friend  as  the  master  of  the 
mansion  and  their  long  lost  townsman.  They  in  a  mass 
rushed  towards  him  with  the  greatest  cordiality,  and  his 
own  little  sister  was  in  a  moment  in  his  arms.  His  father 
saw  the  whole,  and  was  the  only  being  who  looked  dissat 
isfied.  He  instantly  retired,  but  left  his  children.  The 
merchant  now  came  forward,  and  requested  his  fellow- 
citizens,  of  both  sexes,  to  partakeof  a  little  refreshment  with 
him  at  the  hotel,  which  lie  had  provided,  anticipating  this 
event.  The  invitation  was  accepted  without  a  dissentient 
voice,  and  he  requested  the  gentlemen  to  escort  the  ladies 
across  the  way  to  the  hotel.  This  was  done  without  much 


204  THE    EXILE. 

ceremony,  for  the  old  and  the  young  enjoyed  the  scene. 
The  parson,  without  any  reluctance,  stayed  to  ask  a  bles 
sing.  The  host  stepped  up  to  his  friend,  the  captain,  and 
said,  "  My  dear  sir,  you  promised  me  to  bring  my  sister-in- 
law  here  to-day.  I  do  not  see  her."  His  little  sister,  who 
had  hold  of  his  hand,  in  a  whisper  said,  "  Sister  Sarah  has 
gone  up  stairs,  and  is  a  crying  about  something ; — she  hid 
her  face,  and  went  off  when  the  captain  was  telling  the 
folks  all  about  you."  Mr.  Gilman  instantly  ran  up  stairs, 
and  knocked  at  the  door.  "  Come  in,  said  a  faint  voice." 
He  was  in  an  instant  by  her  side,  and  taking  her  by  the 
hand,  inquired  what  he  had  done  to  offend  her.  "  I  never," 
he  added,  "  intended  to  wound  your  feelings."  "  You 
have  deceived  me,"  she  replied,  "  you  gave  me  an  oppor 
tunity  of  exposing  my  heart  when  I  thought  we  were  on 
an  equality,  and  now  your  situation  mocks  my  hope. 
When  you  were  poor,  as  I  thought,  I  could  have  died 
to  assist  you,  and  I  now  am  undone."  "  If  that  is  the 
cause  of  your  tears,  you  shall  dry  them  at  once.  You  are 
mistress  of  this  and  all  that  belongs  to  it,  on  condition 
that  you  will  take  me  as  an  appendage.  I  have  no  other 
attachment.  If  you  consent,  the  peaches  now  ripening 
shall  be  presented  by  a  husband.  The  cherries  were 
handed  you  only  by  a  humble  and  distant  friend.  Come, 
my  dear  sister,  take  my  arm  and  let  us  march  to  the  table, 
and  you  must  preside  at  the  entertainment."  "  Oh,  I  can't 
go,  my  eyes  are  swollen  with  crying.  I  won't  expose 
myself?"  "  Never  mind,  you  little  witch,  your  smiles 
shall  dry  up  your  tears."  He  led  her  at  the  head  of  the 


THE    EXILE.  205 

table,  and  she  soon  was  at  ease.  The  host  did  every 
thing  to  make  the  company  happy,  and  was  successful. 
The  choicest  wines  flowed  like  water.  His  little  sister 
was  full  of  playful  remark,  and  acknowledged  that  a  glass 
of  the  Chatteaux  Margeaux  was  pretty  nearly  equal  to  the 
Shaker's  cider. 

After  his  affairs  had  proceeded  so  far,  Oilman  now 
thought  it  proper  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of  his  friends,  by 
giving  them  his  history ;  and  one  evening,  as  the  widow, 
the  old  maid,  and  the  captain,  were  seated  at  the  tea-table, 
he  began  his  narrative.  "  You  have  all  heard  of  my  going 
off  to  strike  the  great  mail  road,  in  the  captain's  wagon. 
It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  June,  when  I  reached  the  road, 
and  sprang  from  my  seat  and  gave  the  driver  a  farewell. 
While  I  was  waiting  for  the  stage  to  come  along,  the 
thought  struck  me,  that  as  I  was  now  to  seek  my  fortune, 
I  had  better  begin  with  economy,  and  save  my  stage  hire 
by  walking.  On  this  subject  I  came  to  a  conclusion  at 
once.  I  sold  my  trunk  ;  packed  up  my  clothes  in  as  small 
a  compass  as  possible ;  put  on  a  pair  of  woollen  stockings ; 
cut  me  a  shrub-oak  stick,  the  one  I  wear  now  in 
all  my  excursions,  and  the  one  with  which  I  killed  the  dog 
the  other  day,  and  started  off  to  the  first  sea-port  town, 
but  could  find  no  ship  up  for  the  East  Indies.  These 
were  voyages  my  mind  was  bent  upon.  In  Boston  I  heard 
of  two  vessels,  which  were  to  sail  in  a  month  or  two ;  one 
to  be  commanded  by  a  Captain  D.,  and  the  other  by  Captain 
W.  I  at  once  called  upon  Captain  W. ;  the  other  being 

on  a  visit  to  New- York,  for  the  purchase  of  proper  goods 

18* 


THE    EXILE. 

for  the  North-west  Coast  and  the  Sandwich  Islands.     Cap 
tain  W.  said  that  all  the  places  were  taken.     He  saw  at 
once  it  affected  my  spirits ;  but  on  looking  at  the  letter  the 
second  time,  he  observed  that  the  old  captain,  who  was 
known  to  W.,  had  dwelt  much  upon  my  mathematical 
powers,  and  the  thought  struck  him  that  I  might  be  useful 
as  an  instructor  on  board  to  the  young  gentlemen  who 
were  to  go  out  with  him ;   and   after  putting  a  few  ques 
tions  to  me,  said,  'Well,  William,  I  will  find  or  make  a 
place  for  you.     You  must  come  here  in  September,  and 
join  us.'  I  looked  around  and  saw  that  he  had  men  mowing, 
and  ventured  to  observe,  '  Captain,  I  am  direct  from  the 
country ;  suppose  I  should  take  hold  and  help  you  at  once. 
You  will  then  know  what  I  can  do  when  I  have  learnt  my 
duty.'     This  he  assented  to  at  once ;  and  in  half  an  hour 
I  was  in  the  grass  ground,  keeping  up  with  his  first-rate 
hands.    The  captain  spoke  to  me  every  day,  and  cautioned 
me  against  overdoing.     When  his  haying  was  finished,  I 
took  hold  of  the  sickle,  and  did  my  day's  work  with  his 
reapers.     I  was  paid  full  price, — and  told  the  captain  I 
had  heard  of  an  almanac  maker,  and  that  I  should  like 
to  go  and  learn  to  make  an  almanac  when  I  was  in  the 
Pacific.     He  smiled,  and  told  me  that  when  I  was  tired  of 
the  astronomer,  to  come  and  live  with  him,  as  he  could 
find  work  enough  for  me  to  do.     In  the  morning  I  took 
my  stick  and  best  suit  of  clothes,  and  travelled  about  forty 
miles,  to  the  mathematician.     He  was  a  lean,  lank,  whap- 
per-jawed  man,  whose  frame  seemed  .hung  together  with 
wires,  and  he  moved  as  if  he  was  thinking  of  dropping  to 


THE    EXILE.  207 

pieces,  and  reckless  of  the  consequences ;  I  addressed  him 
in  a  set  speech,  and  informed  him  of  my  errand.  He 
seemed  to  look  a  little  suspicious  of  me,  but  I  soon  con 
vinced  him  of  my  sincerity.  At  once  terms  were  agreed 
on  for  board  and  tuition,  and  I  went  to  work  as  hard  as  I 
could.  There  was  a  good  telescope  in  the  neighborhood ; 
and  for  six  weeks  I  was  in  the  midst  of  calculations  and 
the  stars.  The  philosopher  was  indeed  learned,  but  had 
the  simplicity  and  credulity  of  a  child.  I  could  have  lived 
with  him  for  ages ;  his  stock  of  science  expanded  to  my 
wants.  He  would  go  into  a  tedious  calculation  with  great 
readiness,  and  obtain  accuracy  far  more  rapidly  than 
any  man  I  have  ever  met  with  since;  but  in  the  street  and 
away  from  his  books,  he  did  not  know  '  a  hawk  from  a 
handsaw.'  He  would  stand  out  in  a  shower,  to  enjoy  the 
sublimity  of  a  thunderstorm,  until  he  had  not  a  dry  thread 
about  him ;  and  enjoy  the  lightning,  as  it  leapt  from  cloud 
to  cloud,  as  the  effect  of  a  piece  of  splendid  machinery  in 
some  great  drama  of  nature.  I  wrote  to  Captain  W.  every 
week,  who  was  amused  with  my  description  of  my  pursuits, 
and  with  the  description  of  my  tutors ;  for  I  employed  a 
first-rate  sailor,  who  had  a  ship  in  miniature,  to  unrig  her 
and  then  put  all  her  rigging  up  again,  for  my  information. 
In  a  few  days  after  my  engagement  with  the  sailor,  the 
lesson  was  attended  by  dozens  of  mariners,  at  home,  for 
the  novelty  of  the  thing.  Captain  D.  sailed  first ;  and  it 
was  agreed  that  I  should  go  with  him,  as  his  was  the  largest 
vessel,  and  contained  more  young  gentlemen. 

"  The  Eagle  was  a  fine  ship,  and  Captain  D.  a  talented 


208  THE    EXILE. 

commander.  His  connections,  family,  and  acquirements 
were  such,  that  he  was  called  by  his  brother  master-mari 
ners,  the  Don.  As  soon  as  I  came  on  board,  he  sent  for  me 
into  his  cabin,  which  was  finished  and  furnished  like  a  pa 
lace,  and  examined  me  in  my  acquirements.  When  he  had 
gone  through  with  his  interrogatories,  he  told  me  that  I 
must  be  ranked  as  captain's  secretary  and  instructor  to 
the  young  men.  I  replied,  that  I  was  willing  to  take  upon 
myself  any  duties,  but  as  it  was  my  intention  to  make  my- 
self  a  first-rate  navigator  and  seaman,  that  I  could  not 
consent  to  be  relieved  from  the  duty  of  a  seaman.  He 
said,  "You  may  do  as  much  of  that  duty  as  you  please; 
only  you  will  be  expected  to  wear  a  long  coat  when  you 
act  as  secretary  or  schoolmaster.  To  this  I  made  no  re- 
ply.  I  was  prepared  for  climbing  the  masts  and  rigging, 
having  an  hundred  times  stood  on  the  highest  branch  of 
a  chestnut  tree,  or  a  tall  hickory,  and  knocked  off  the  nuts 
with  a  long  pole,  unsustained  by  any  thing  but  my  foot 
hold  and  careful  balance. 

"  My  duties  were  constant,  but  not  oppressive ;  for  I  labor 
ed  on  no  portion  of  them  any  longer  at  a  time  than  I  pleased, 
and  changed  them  as  often  as  I  felt  fatigued  with  any  one 
branch.  By  the  time  I  had  reached  the  Pacific,  it  was  agreed 
by  all  hands  that  I  could  discharge  the  duties  of  a  first-rate 
seaman  better  than  any  one  on  board.  My  reckoning  was 
kept  with  the  greatest  accuracy ;  for  I  had  not  only  solar, 
but  lunar  and  siderial  calculations  made  whenever  the  day 
and  night  were  fair.  We  touched,  on  our  passage  to  the 
North-west  Coast,  at  the  Sandwich  Islands,  and  left  a  part 


THE    EXILE.  209 

of  our  cargo  for  the  next  season,  and  proceeded  to  our 
traffic.  The  trade  with  the  Indians  required  great  cau 
tion  and  perseverance,  for  at  that  time  there  was  no  small 
competition  among  the  different  interests.  I  was  frequent 
ly  sent  in  the  boat  supplied  with  articles  for  trade.  The 
Indians  are  the  most  traitorous  and  malicious  of  any  sava 
ges  in  the  world,  and  there  is  no  confidence  to  be  placed 
in  thorn.  They  are  dexterous  in  taking  the  sea-otter ;  and 
in  fact  even  the  inhabitants  of  the  deep  seem  to  have  been 
put  under  their  control  when  God  put  them  on  their  in 
hospitable  shores.  On  our  return  to  the  Sandwich  Isl 
ands,  I  saw  the  great  king  Tamahamaha,  and  his  queen 
Kaiaraana.  The  king  had  not  a  good  face,  or  at  least 
not  so  good  as  some  of  his  chiefs ;  but  his  queen  was  a 
most  majestic  looking  woman,  about  six  feet  in  height,  and 
then  inclining  to  corpulency.  The  king  and  queen  were 
great  friends  to  Captain  D.,  and  he  lived  among  them  with 
the  greatest  freedom  and  security.  He  carried  out  the 
frame  for  a  house,  and  erected  the  first  of  that  kind  on  the 
island  of  Wahi,  then  a  great  curiosity.  Captain  D.  was 
an  original  character.  He  was  generous  as  well  as  intelli 
gent  ;  and  had  that  fearless  frankness  about  him  that  al- 
ways  charms  a  savage.  His  present  to  the  great  chiefs 
astonished  them,  and  they  repaid  him  with  sandal  wood, 
of  which  they  then  did  not  know  the  value. 

"  When  Captain  W.  arrived,  they  bought  an  old  brig 
they  found  there,  and  prepared  to  send  her  into  the 
southern  high  latitudes  a  sealing.  Nothing  could  sur 
prise  me  more  than  an  offer  from  the  two  gentlemen 


210  THE    EXILE. 

to  give  me  the  command  of  her,  and  allowed  me  to 
pick  my  crew  from  both  vessels,  or  any  sailors  to  be  found 
on  the  island.  This  was  too  flattering  to  refuse.  I  took 
the  journal  of  the  captain  who  had  discovered  the  island  I 
was  directed  to  find,  and  examined  his  reckoning  for  three 
weeks  previous  to  his  discovery.  I  did  this,  as  one  vessel 
had  been  sent,  and  could  not  find  the  island.  I  soon 
discovered  his  error.  The  reckoning  was  more  than  fifty 
miles  from  the  truth.  I  went  directly  to  the  island,  and 
made  it  within  an  hour  of  my  calculations.  The  seals 
were  abundant,  and  our  crew  set  about  their  business  like 
brave  fellows.  When  the  cargo  was  entirely  made  up,  I 
was  sent  to  China,  for  a  sale  of  our  stuffs,  for  a  quantity 
of  teas.  It  was  consigned  to  Sequor  a  Hong,  merchant, 
who  was  one  of  the  most  noble  minded  men  I  ever  knew. 
He  inquired  my  whole  course  of  life,  thinking  me  very 
young  for  a  commander  of  a  vessel.  I  told  him  all 
honestly.  He  offered  me  ten  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  teas,  to  pay  him  when  I  next  come  to  China.  After 
consulting  my  friends,  I  was  induced  to  accept  of  his 
generous  offer.  Ten  thousand  dollars  on  the  simple  his 
tory  of  my  adventures,  and  that  before  my  minority  had 
ceased!  I  made  my  voyage  in  as  short  a  time  from 
Canton  to  Boston  as  had  ever  been  made,  and  became 
acquainted  with  the  owners  of  Captains  D.  and  W. 
to  whom  of  course  I  had  letters.  They  spake  in  high 
terms  of  my  services,  but  frankly  told  me  that  they  could 
not  send  me  as  master  of  the  vessel  they  were  about 
fitting  out — but  would  send  me  as  mate.  To  this  I  did 


THE    EXILE.  211 

not  accede.  I  now  bought  a  small  brig  of  one  hundred 
and  seventy-five  tons,  and  manned  her  on  shares.  I 
sailed  from  Boston  on  a  sealing  voyage,  and  never  was 
one  more  successful.  We  had  but  three  first-rate  sailors, 
a  few  ordinary  ones,  and  all  the  rest  were  raw  hands ;  but 
every  man  was  engaged  in  his  duty,  and  our  little  vessel 
was  a  school  from  the  time  we  started  until  we  returned. 
In  two  years  and  ten  days  from  the  time  I  left  Sequor  I 
was  in  China  with  my  cargo.  My  old  Chinese  father  said, 
as  I  offered  him  skins  and  sandal  wood  in  payment  for  his 
old  debt,  "  No ;  you  have  done  well ;  try  your  luck  once 
more."  I  was  advised  still  to  traffic  on  his  capital.  On 
reaching  Boston,  I  had  offers  from  several  merchants  to 
make  up  a  voyage  wherever  I  thought  best  to  go.  Having 
got  tired  of  this  kind  of  business,  notwithstanding  its 
profits,  I  accepted  an  invitation  from  those  princes  of 
merchants,  J.  and  T.  II.  P.,  to  take  charge  of  a  large 
ship  for  them  to  Calcutta.  In  a  few  weeks  I  was  off  again. 
On  my  return  I  was  anxious  to  visit  Europe.  I  was  with 
several  Americans  in  the  House  of  Commons  when  the 
news  of  the  declaration  of  war  arrived.  There  was  less 
excitement  than  one  would  have  expected  from  such  an 
event.  But  a  nation  which  has  been  at  war  nine  years  to 
every  four  of  peace  for  three  centuries,  is  not  much  disturb 
ed  at  such  an  event.  I  had  made  some  observations  on 
London  before  I  obtained  liberty  to  go  to  Paris  ;  and  must 
think  after  all,  that  London  is  the  greatest  city  that  the  world 
contains,  every  thing  considered.  Its  literary,  scientific, 
and  charitable  institutions  place  it  above  all  others,  and  its 


212  THE    EXILE. 

commerce  has  no  equal.  In  the  gay  and  tasteful  city 
of  Paris,  I  spent  six  months,  attending  to  the  French  and 
Italian  languages  for  six  hours  every  day — and  by  having 
a  well  educated  servant,  who  understood  both  tongues, 
I  made  rapid  improvement  in  my  studies,  and  yet  they 
did  not  interfere  with  any  rational  pleasure  I  wished  for. 

"  I  then  went  to  Naples  and  Rome.  I  had  letters  from 
a  distinguished  Catholic  prelate  in  New-England.  I  ex 
amined  all  the  wonders  of  the  eternal  city,  and  left  for 
Greece,  Egypt  and  the  Holy  Land.  The  tour  consumed  the 
three  years  of  the  war ;  when  I  returned  from  it  to  the 
United  States,  and  from  thence  sailed  in  a  short  time 
to  India,  where  I  have  resided  ever  since,  until  my  visit  to 
this  place  of  my  birth  a  few  months  since.  When  I  find 
time,  I  shall  write  out  my  travels  for  your  amusement. 
I  labored  harder  in  my  travels  than  I  ever  did  as  a 
farmer,  mariner,  or  sealer.  But  it  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  think  I  have  had  such  an  opportunity  to  improve  my 
mind.  Among  my  papers  you  will  find  careful  drawings 
of  the  principal  views  on  the  Mediteranean,  the  Sea  of 
Marmora,  and  the  Bosphorus.  And  what  you  will  most 
be  pleased  with,  are  some  faithful  descriptions  of  Jerusa 
lem  as  it  now  is,  a  desolate  and  wretched  place — the 
rocky  foundations  remain,  but  the  prophecy  against  the 
city  has  been  accomplished." 

In  a  fortnight  William  Hutchins  Gilman  was  married 
to  the  widow  Sarah  Gilman,  and  took  possession  of  the 
Gibson  estate.  His  library  was  large  and  well  selected ; 
and  every  thing  about  his  house  partook  of  taste  and  afflu- 


THE    EXILE.  213 

encc.  The  poor  had  found  in  him  a  new  friend,  and  the 
neighborhood  an  excellent  citizen,  whose  public  spirit  was 
even  greater  than  his  private  liberality.  Deacon  Oilman 
never  spake  of  his  son,  but  no  longer  laid  any  restraint 
upon  his  younger  children.  They  visited  their  brother 
when  thny  chose.  He  was  happy  that  so  much  was  done. 
The  wife  was  the  admired  of  all  her  guests;  and,  a  rare 
fliiiiiT  in  the  country,  was  popular  with  all  classes. 

In  the  course  of  the  year,  the  death  of  the  deacon  was 
announced.  He  died  suddenly  of  an  apoplexy.  He  left 
no  will.  He  was  one  of  those  timid  characters,  in  a  moral 
view,  that  thought  that  it  was  saying  to  Deity,  if  you  made 
a  will,  "  Now  I  shall  not  be  caught  leaving  my  property 
where  it  should  not  go,  however  suddenly  you  may  take 
me  away."  On  the  annunciation  of  the  death  of  his  father, 
the  son  instantly  repaired  to  the  mansion  house,  and  found 
his  father  a  corse.  The  exile  of  sixteen  years  from  his 
home,  now  entered  the  place  of  his  birth,  not  to  receive  the 
greeting  of  a  parent,  but  to  bury  his  father.  He  looked 
around  with  emotion,  upon  those  things  once  familiar.  A 
relation  was  there,  with  an  infant,  and  the  old  family  cra 
dle,  made  of  stout  oak,  was  rocking  the  babe  to  sleep. 
The  picture  of  the  Boston  Massacre,  engraved  by  Paul 
Revere,  a  mechanic,  soldier,  patriot  and  statesman,  still 
hung  over  the  best  room  fire-place,  with  the  lines  made  for 
the  occasion  by  Dr.  Church,  beginning 

"Unhappy  Boston,  see  thy  sons  deplore 
Thy  haliow'd  walks,  besmeared  with  guiltless  gore, 
While  faithless  Preston,  with  his  savage  bands, 
In  murd'rous  rancor  streak  their  bloody  hands,"  &c.  &c. 
19 


214  THE    EXILE. 

On  the  other  side  was  a  likeness  of  General  Warren ;  and 
over  him  hung  the  family  coat  of  arms,  in  needle-work, 
done  by  his  great  great  grand-mother,  bearing  date  1713. 
He  remembered  several  Scripture  pieces,  which  he  was 
taught  to  think  very  fine,  which  he  now  saw  were  execra 
ble  daubs.  Nothing  in  the  rooms  was  more  familiar  to  him 
than  the  face  of  the  iron  dogs,  which  were  cast  to  repre 
sent  cherubs,  but  they  came  nearer  the  looks  of  the  pug- 
nosed  spaniel  than  that  of  infant  beauty.  He  was  a  man 
/of  nerve  and  firmness, — during  his  whole  exile  he  had 
never  shed  a  tear, — he  refrained  no  longer,  but  wept  as  a 
child.  The  deep  sense  of  his  wrongs  were  forgotten,  and 
nothing  remained  to  support  him  but  a  consciousness  that 
he  had  not  deserved  his  fate.  The  image  of  his  beloved 
mother  came  up,  all  fresh  to  his  mind,  and  subdued  every 
lingering  resentment  in  his  heart.  At  the  funeral,  as  was 
the  custom  of  the  country  when  a  member  of  the  church 
dies,  a  sermon  was  preached.  The  clergyman  was  a  man 
of  strong  mind,  and  acute  feelings.  He  alluded  to  certain 
events  that  had  transpired  in  the  family,  with  great  effect 
and  delicacy ;  and  showed  from  sacred  history  that,  under 
the  guidance  of  God,  good  often  springs  from  evil.  Not  a 
single  tear  fell  to  the  memory  of  Deacon  Gilman,  save 
those  of  the  exile  and  his  youngest  sister.  He  had 
ground  the  face  of  the  poor,  and  driven  the  beggar  from 
his  door.  Even  the  kind-hearted,  generous  wroman,  who 
had  been  married  to  two  of  his  sons,  was  solemn  but  tear 
less.  She  remembered  that  after  the  death  of  her  first 
husband,  that  her  father-in-law  attempted  to  wrest  from 


THE    EXILE.  215 

her  the  property  left  her  by  will,  and  went  so  far  in  the 
nefarious  design,  as  to  suborn  a  wretched  quack  to  swear 
that  the  testator  was  not  of  sound  disposing  mind  when  the 
will  was  made ;  but  the  whole  neighborhood  was  on  the 
other  side,  and  the  jury  did  not  leave  their  seats  to  make 
up  their  minds,  but  returned  a  verdict  of  sanity,  hardly 
restraining  their  resentment  at  the  course  the  father  had 
taken. 

The  son  hjuMiyed  much  in  Catholic  countries,  and 
some  of  the  ceremonies  had  made  strong  impressions  on 
his  mind.  He  now  more  particularly  thought  of  the  masses 
said  for  the  dead,  and  with  what  serenity  many  wise  and 
good  men  believed  in  their  efficacy.  Under  these  feelings, 
not  daring  to  divulge  them,  he  thought  of  a  half-way  mea 
sure  to  quiet  his  conscience.  Taking  a  sheet  of  paper, 
he  laid  it  upon  the  cotlin  which  contained  his  father's  ashes, 
and  wrote  a  deed  of  gift  of  one  half  his  portion  of  his  fa- 
ther's  estate  to  the  church  to  which  his  family  belonged, 
for  charitable  purposes,  the  other  half  to  his  youngest  sis 
ter,  and  handing  it  to  the  clergyman,  who,  casting  his  eye 
upon  it,  observed  that  his  wife's  signature  was  not  put  to  it. 
She  heard  the  remark,  anticipated  its  purport,  and  instant 
ly  added  her  consent  to  the  disposition.  If  he  did  not  be 
lieve  in  the  efficacy  of  prayers  for  the  dead,  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  be  doing  wrong  in  providing  for  the  poor  his  fa 
ther  never  relieved.  The  procession  now  moved  on,  and 
dust  was  consigned  to  dust.  In  a  few  weeks  Mr.  Oilman 
built  a  family  tomb,  and  deposited  the  remains  of  his 
mother  and  brother  with  those  of  his  father,  and  expressed 


216  THE    EXILE. 

his  wish  to  be  laid  in  the  same  vault  when  it  should  please 
Heaven  to  call  him  from  time  to  eternity.  He  requested  a 
friend  to  write  an  epitaph  for  a  stone  when  he  should  there 
be  laid.  It  was  written  ;  but  will  any  one  dare  sculpture 
the  inscription  for  posterity  ? 

Here  repose, 

until  the  resurrection  of  the  body, 
the  ashes  of  those  who  lived  in  strife; 

and  died 

without  interchanging  forgiveness 
in  this  world. 

"Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky?" 

Darkness  and  eternal  Silence 
reign  beneath  this  stone: 

all  hatred  and  envy 
are  here  buried  in  the  dust. 
The  grave   hath  no  tongue 

for  slander; 

no  imperishable  walls 

for  malignant  falsehood 

to  cover  with  her  venomous 

record. 

If  our  mother  earth 

hath   no   accents   to  utter, 

go,  traveller,  and  spread  far  and  wide 

this  solemn  truth, 

a  lesson  for  mankind  at  large, 

that  there  is  no  bane 

for  which 

God  has  not  made  an   antidote, — 
that  thrice  accursed  leprosy 

of  the  soul, 

A  Family  Quarrel, 

excepted. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


CD  LD 


MAR  3    1963 


LD  21A-50m-3,'62 
(C7097slO)476B 


General  Library 
University  of  California 
JBerkeley 


919113 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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